After A Moment
by Cohen101
Summary: Previously titled 'Life Goes On'. PostRent. Mimi's withdrawal, Roger's quest, Mark's new found guardianship, Collins' anarchism, Maureen's schemes and Joanne's undying love. Mostly showverse with the set of movieverse. Cannon. Freakin' long.
1. Prologue

_Cold sweat…_

11:40 am. Twenty minutes since Mimi had thought it about it last.

- - - - -

What she needed was a distraction… something to take her mind away from the urge…

Across the room - clear blue eyes.

Mimi watched the kid- who wasn't all that much younger than her, and wondered how things had come to this. Watched the kid while trying to desperately ignore the burning itch of her body, the soothing voice at the back of her mind that was constantly taunting her, torturing her;

_Smack,_ It whispered.

11:52 am. Twelve minutes.

- - - - -

The girl across from her had dark brown hair that was twisted into a messy bun; one that probably hadn't taken more than twenty seconds to secure.

_The heat, the itch- _

12:01 pm. Nine minutes.

- - - - -

Side-swept bangs tucked carefully away from her right eye, the longest strands of them clinging daintily to her ear.

_Just one…_

12:07 pm. Six minutes.

- - - - -

Eyes focused intently on the work- the same look that she'd seen Mark have at times when he was working on one of his films.

_No…_

12:12 pm. Five minutes.

- - - - -

Writing, doodling or drawing, Mimi couldn't decide what the girl was doing.

_Desire, like a raging fire…_

12:14 pm. Two minutes.

- - - - -

The soft jaw line worked back and forth, most likely from chewing on the inside of her lip. Mimi did that sometimes, when she needed-

_So easy to ease…_

12:16 pm. Two minutes.

- - - - -

A green modest tank-top, black bra straps snug against her lightly tanned shoulders, which were slightly hunched forwards.

_Twitch- No…_

12: 18 pm. Two minutes.

- - - - -

Plaid pajama bottoms like Rogers- or were they Rogers? - covering legs that were tucked up comfortably against the body, providing a sloped table for her work as her toes hung off the edge of the couch.

_Shiver. _

12:21 pm. Three minutes.

- - - - -

There was hand movement accompanied by soft scratching, but the thick notebook obscured most of it, the movement and sound only pausing when the pencil-clad hand reached up and hovered just below her chin- and she was looking at Mimi again.

_Just one…_

12:25 pm. Four minutes.

- - - - -

Analyzing her, memorizing some odd detail about her or the way she sat with her blue eyes. Mimi cocked her head but didn't say anything for a long moment. Soon the girl ducked her head again, resuming her scribbling.

_Maybe just- _**No. **

12:31 pm. Six minutes.

- - - - -

The paranoid part of Mimi knew the girl was glancing to make sure she wasn't getting ready to make a run for the door or the fire escape. But the rational part of Mimi, the one she wasn't as inclined to listen to at the moment, knew that there was something to the concentration on the girls face. Something… almost friendly and inquiring about that look…

Mimi stood up and the scratching stopped, her paranoid counterpart winning the silent argument- the eyes were looking to be cautious.

But for the briefest moment she was so sure it was something else…

The eyes followed Mimi's back as she crossed the loft and headed to the kitchen. They watched her intently as she rummaged through the cupboards and finally pulled out a handful of crackers. No wonder Roger had gone shopping, there was nothing left in the loft to eat. Mimi lifted herself onto the counter, munching on them one at a time, nibble by nibble.

The clear blue eyes locked with her brown ones for a moment before returning their gaze to the paper in front of them.

The almost mute sound of pencil scratching against paper began once again.

When they looked up again Mimi knew they were different from when they'd been watching before while she walked across the loft. Now they were more observant than cautious, softly calculating. Maybe… trying to understand? Not questioning or judging, just… understanding.

"Heroin."

An eyebrow went up- and Mimi instantly looked away.

Why'd she say that? The voice had gone away- the itch had left her. Now it was back, drilling a hole in the back of her head, painful and irritating, creating a void just burning to be filled.

_Just one hit…_

1: 03 pm. A fucking half hour.

- - - - -

How did we get here, how the hell…?

- - - - -

**A/N: This is the prologue. This is my first Rent fic, postRent, actually. Don't worry, it'll be canon, but there will be an additional character… obviously. Or I hope that was obvious. If not, I've already screwed up.  
**

**This will be a multi-chapter story. There will be swearing. There will be mature themes. If anyone thinks at any point that the rating should be bumped up to an M **_**tell me immediately**_** and it shall be done. I understand the conditions but I've read some pretty heavy stuff before. **

**So let me know what you're thinking and I'll try to get the next chapter up soon. **

**Well, that and talk less in these. Please review?**


	2. January 4th Afternoon

**January 4****th**** 1991 3:56 pm EST**

There was fog on the window of the plane and it made Mark wonder just how thin the pane of glass was. What would it take for it to break, for the air to create a vacuum that would suck him out of his seat and send him rocketing into a freefall with no parachute? Unconsciously his hand went to a seatbelt, which he fingered thoughtfully. It wasn't all that likely that he could fit through a window that small anyways, so if he did happen to punch it in sheer sadness, rage, hurt, disappointment, sorrow or whatever the fuck else he was feeling, it was probable he'd still be safe.

Safe: he scoffed.

The word was redundant to him. Yes, he was as safe as you could get when being propelled across the sky in a 90-thousand pound monster of technology. There was no danger to his physical being at the moment, other than the obvious.

Roger wasn't around to punch him for something or another and there were no stairs to fall down. No tables moved about in a drunken haze to surprise him as he walked. Yes, he was relatively safe. But he didn't feel safe. In fact, he felt distinctly unsafe. Perfectly broken, if you favored paradox.

Mark was tottering on the edge of rocky overhanging cliff and the ground was slowly beginning to break apart under the weight of his feet, crumbling into a dark emotional abyss he knew he couldn't get lost in.

And this constituted as safe.

As he said, the word was redundant, disguised as a comfort term. It meant nothing any more. It was irrelevant to him and his situation. His situation…

No one was ever Safe.

Mark used to think that he was Safe. That Maureen was Safe. That Joanne and Benny were Safe. Now he realized that Safe didn't incorporate luck into its definition, and therefore it was flawed; the omission made it false.

But then again, what words did incorporate luck? Luck itself? Then would luck just be an external force that was ignored until someone uttered those words, 'if we're lucky'? Or was it just assumed to be a given?

It was like the English language was a fucking chemistry experiment where all external variables were disregarded and tolerated until it came to the evaluation. Well here he was, evaluating the precision of the English language, and he wasn't impressed. There were too many loopholes, too many things that didn't make sense.

"… me sir. More peanuts?"

The voice floated through Marks ear and he automatically looked towards the source. A flight attendant was looking at him expectantly, holding a basket in one arm, a small packet in the other hand. She smiled at him.

Mark couldn't bring himself to return it. He stopped trying to smile yesterday after he put down the phone. After Roger had asked him what was wrong. After he had tried to lie and failed miserable.

"That's okay," he croaked, his throat dry and his voice raw.

With a nod, an encouraging smile and an offer of condolence, the young woman was on her way.

Mark swore silently.

Was his heart really that exposed on his sleeve? Was he really that fucking pathetic that some random stranger could read his face and asses his situation so accurately? That a stranger would feel the need to offer him support, like he couldn't stand on his own two feet?

But that was unfair. The lady had seen he was hurting and only wanted to help.

He realized he was crying.

In his hands was the picture in the mail he'd received two years ago, end of June. He didn't know why he still had it, or how he'd found it. The gloss was starting to deteriorate from his hands constantly wringing at it.

Turning his face towards the window, he briefly debated punching it out and testing his theory. He didn't know how long he'd been looking out the window, but at some point they must have landed, for the Captain's voice was filtering through the speakers and the engines were winding down to a dulled hum. The scenery had changed from nature to civilization.

"… wishing you all Safe travels."

There was that tragically misunderstood word.

Mark got up and retrieved his one bag of luggage from the overhead compartments- an old camera case with the insides gutted- and waited detached from the world to be let out of the plane.

No one was ever Safe.

He longed for his camera, to try and capture something that expressed his frustrations, but it was back in the loft on his bedside table. The reasoning behind its absence was that it wouldn't be safe without the right protective case. But right now he didn't care, he just wanted comfort. Something to hold that wouldn't eventually disappear.

Something that wouldn't die on him.

Safety; it was so fucking overrated.

**January 4****th**** 6:46 pm EST**

He found himself at the public pay phones.

How he got there he couldn't really remember, but he knew why his feet had led him there. The coins clinked noisily through the machine and he punched in a number he'd long ago memorized.

Someone answered on the second ring,

"Hello?"

Mark felt like he shed a hundred pounds just hearing that voice say those two syllables.

"Is anyone there? Hello? Look, if you don't answer I'm hanging up right now and if you call again I'm going to-"

"Hey Roger," he replied, cutting of the threat that promised to be amusing. He didn't feel like laughing just now. He didn't think he had the capability to laugh.

"(_Roger, dude, who is it?_)

Mark!

(–_who is it? _

Didn't you hear me?It's Mark.

_Did he get there alright?_

How the fuck should I know? You interrupted me before I could ask him!

_Well just ask him if he got there alright! _

Well, just shut-UP and LET ME! Jesus…) Mark?"

"Yeah, I'm still here. Tell Collin's that I'm fine."

"(He's fine Collins.

_Well, ask him if-_

Do you want the fucking phone? Do you!? … I didn't think so. So shut the hell up!) Mark?"

"Yeah," he assured monotone. He probably would've been laughing at their antics if this was two days ago. That was a depressing thought.

"How was the flight?"

Ah. Roger was playing it Safe.

That fucking word again.

It was a side of Roger that he didn't often see- one that he wasn't too comfortable around. Roger was mostly always blunt or oblivious; an almost tactful Roger was weird.

The line was silent and Roger was waiting for Mark's response. He said the first thing that came to mind, "They offered me peanuts."

"Well good for them," Roger answered instantly. Almost too quickly. "I mean, it wouldn't be a plane ride if they didn't offer you peanuts…

(_Are you talking about peanuts?_

Collins, I swear to the almighty God that I'm going to kick your ass around this loft if you keep interrupting me.

_Roger, is Mark even talking? 'Cause, I'm sorry to tell you this man, but I can't be interrupting something that's not happening._

How the fuck should I know if he's talking or not? I'm talking to you!) Mark? Mark!"

Oh, that's me, Mark thought after a second. "Yeah."

"(_Tell him!_)

Mark, I'll be right back, 'kay? Don't go anywhere man."

Mark 'mhmm'ed into the speaker and listened to the sound of things falling over under his friend's conversation while he watched a piece of lint floating through the air:

"(_What the hell are you doing? Why'd you put down the phone Roger? Is everything okay?_

FUCK! I TOLD you to SHUT-UP!

_Roger, he should know that- _

FUCK COLLINS you're RUSHING me! I don't like being RUSHED! Get the FUCK OUT of here! NOW!

_What? Why? Roger, seriously, I know you're not that stupid. You wouldn't do that- OW! FUCK! Oh, you did not just do that you little bitch! You are so going to regret that! Get back here you fucking hussy so I can beat your ass good and red! Bastard!_)"

There was a loud bang and distantly, Roger laughed triumphantly, "(I warned you man!

_When I get in there I'm going to…_)" Collins continued his battement of Roger's good- not so good, Mark mused- name in the background and Roger returned to the phone,

"Hey Mark?"

"Yeah," his voice refused to reflect the amusement he knew he should have been feeling. What was wrong with him?

Oh. Right. He was fucking Safe.

And he was reminding himself he was Safe.

That was something he really needed to stop doing.

"Mark?"

Roger had been talking to him. Mark couldn't bring himself to feel guilty about ignoring him at the moment, apologizing on autopilot. "What were you saying?"

"Dude, you sure you're alright? I'll come down there-

(_No you won't you fucking bitch,_)

and… uh, you know…

(_cause I'm going to kick your ass all the way to-_)

Mark? Hold on a second, 'kay?"

"Yeah." Mark heard the window popping open and assumed that Roger was crawling out to the fire escape. At least now he wouldn't be able to hear what threats Collins was shouting at him. Collins was smart enough to avoid uttering death threats, but it didn't matter. Mark knew he was doing it on purpose.

"Sorry about that man. I- we're just worried."

"I'm fine." Fine was almost as bad as Safe. At least Fine held its own against a comparison. As in: you're Fine, compared to this person. Safe was just fucking redundant: you're Safe, but no one's really Safe, so it doesn't really mean anything. I wasn't supposed to worry about you because you were Safe compared to the guy with HIV, and yet the perfectly healthy couple- Stop thinking about it, Mark told himself firmly.

Roger was still talking, "… just being us… Mark?"

"Yeah." How many times had he said that today? It would be impossible to count.

"Me and Collins, we just want you to know that… we'll be here for you. We all will- Mimi, Maureen, Joanne too. And, well, Angel, I guess. Wherever she is; she'll be here too. In a different sense I mean. But still here… Shit, should I have mentioned her? Fuck, did I just screw up?"

"That's okay, Roger." Why did his voice sound so robotic? It really was okay, but he sounded like it wasn't. He was tried of people tiptoeing around the subject and not specifically tired of Roger. Who was just being Roger.

"I'm sorry man. I just- whatever you decide. We're behind you one hundred percent. So, just, do what you need to do… What you can do- what you _want_ to do. You know what, you know what I mean, right?"

Mark nodded. Roger didn't answer him. "Roger?" Mark asked, making sure he was still there.

"Mark?"

Mark wondered how he'd forgotten he was speaking with Roger on the phone. Suddenly oddly conscious of the heavy receiver in his hand, he realized Roger couldn't see him nod.

"You know what I mean, right?" Roger repeated after a beat and Mark nodded, and then remembered,

"Yeah. It… means a lot. Thanks."

"No problem. I'd pass the phone over to Collins, but I'm afraid he might just kill me…"

Mark visibly flinched and said nothing. Almost was the key word when dealing with Roger- he was 'almost' tactful. But he did at least realize it,

"FUCK! Shit, I'm sorry Mark! I'm a fucking moron, aren't I? Me and my big fucking mouth!"

Something that felt a little like the beginnings of a smile tugged at the tips of his lips for a second before disappearing. Roger was still ranting about what an idiot he was and Mark appreciated it. He didn't want to go, but didn't know if he would ever be able to get himself moving.

Try he must, "Roger? I've got to go."

"Oh. Okay. Well, call… whenever. I'll be home. Not like I would be anywhere else, but…"

Again, the slightest pressure on his cheeks and Mark knew he'd be able to smile eventually. It would just take time, but as long as he had his friends, he knew he'd be alright.

"I will. Thanks. Bye."

"Bye," Roger replied solemnly. Mark didn't put the phone down, blanking out completely.

"WAIT!" Roger shouted into the speaker. Unfazed by the sudden yell he replied with a much overused,

"Yeah?"

"I wasn't going to ask, but Collins is outside our building, on the street now. He's screaming at me… the two bums are staring at him… Hold on, (WHAT?)"

Collins voice floated through the speaker faintly, "(_Can he hear me? _

How the fuck should I know?

_Ask him you useless burnout!_)"

"Hey Mark?"

"Yeah."

"Did you hear Collins just then?"

"Yeah."

"Okay, one second, (HE SAID HE HEARD!

_Good. Do it again!... Hey! Mark! Roger's an asshole so I'm screaming at the phone from the street! I hope you can hear me alright! I just wanted to say that we love you man, and we're here for you! Anything you need- ANYTHING at all, just ask and you got it! Okay, now Roger's going to ask you something, so- _

I'M NOT ASKING HIM SHIT! YOU ASK IF YOU'RE SO GOD DAMN CURIOUS!

Baby?

Uh, hey Meems… You feeling alright? Did we wake you?

I'm feeling alright.

_Hi Mimi! _

What… are you two doing? Why are you yelling so much? What time is it?

We're just talking to Mark… he just got there.

Is he doing okay? And why is… 

_Because Roger's a little bitchkin and he's scared of an asswhoopin!_

Baby? …

What? I can't concentrate when people are yelling at me...

How does that work when you're performing?

_Good question!_

That's DIFFERENT!

Is Mark still on the phone honey?

What? Oh, FUCK!) Mark?" Roger sounded panicked.

"Yeah." A sigh of relief from the other line,

"(He's still here.

Give me the phone babe."

A bang and "… It doesn't go down that far.

Marky, can you hear me sweetie?)

Mark, can you hear Meems?"

"Yeah."

"(Yeah, he can hear you.

Hey Marky. We love you sweetie, I hope you know that. I know these two guys act like dunces-

Hey!

_I heard that!_

–they're doing it because they care. I love you and I'll see you soon, alright? Hang in there Mark.)

You hear her Mark?"

"Yeah. Thanks."

"(He says 'thanks'.) Hey Mark, Collins wanted me to ask you what… what you were going to do. About… you know…"

Mark sighed. "I think… I think I am."

"Awesome. We've got your back Mark. We're here for you."

"Ye--"

"Please insert another quarter for-"

The phone cut off during his umpteenth 'Yeah'.

'Yeah' was a fucking Fine Safe word.

**A/N: So yeah. Thanks for all the feedback for the prologue. I very much appreciate the reviews, and I loved every last one of them. Thank you soo much :)  
**

**I hope the telephone conversation wasn't too OOC, or too confusing to follow. And Mark's rant.This is going to be a long story. Hopefully y'all will be in it for the long run O.o This is just the beginning, and a, I suck at beginnings and b, I need to set everything up in a half decent manner.  
**

**Bless your soul if you read through that garble. Yes, it's a word. No, I'm not positive. **

**Please review! It's the only way I'll know what you're thinking!**


	3. January 4th Evening

**Chapter rated T, for Tuff. Oh, and Roger and Mimi are coming up next chapter.**

Mark

**January 4****th**** 9:12 pm EST**

"Mark!"

Mark's head snapped up from the blue line against the white tiles he'd been following, wincing as he saw his mother waddling over to him as fast as she could in her high heels. He briefly wondered why she was wearing high heels at a hospital, but the crushing hug she enveloped him in made breathing a priority in his mind.

"Oh Mark, isn't it all just so terrible?" Carol Cohen blubbered into his shoulder and he patted her back with his free hand,

"Yeah Mom," he answered her softly, seeing his father still sitting in the waiting chair. They looked at each other for a moment before Mark had to look elsewhere. His throat was dry and his fathers repenting eyes did nothing to soothe it. "It's horrible."

"They were already gone by the time they made it to the hospital, and now Katharine's in there, all alone-"

Mark shook his head against his mom's, "She's not alone," he reminded and his mother pulled away from him.

Tears were streaming down her made-up face and she bit her lip at Mark's comment. Her whole face quivered as she said, "Of course not," warily.

"She's got us," Mark reminded, just in case his mom still didn't get it. Carol nodded, guilt crossing her features as her breath hitched every time she inhaled. For a moment they just looked at each other and Mark realized that his mom was counting on him to stay sane, looking to him for comfort. He needed to stay calm so that she could be the emotional one.

Mark knew his time for public grieving had come to an end, and he resented that it wasn't his decision. "Where's Cindy?" he asked, buying some time before he was forced to interact with his father, who had just gotten off his chair.

Carol sniffed, "Cindy and the kids were here all of yesterday and came back this morning. Kat fell asleep a little while ago so they went home."

"We wanted to talk to you about that Mark," his father said from a couple feet away and Mark released his mom so she could go over to the other man.

Determined to stay civil with his father Mark fixed his focus on a fake hospital plant and said, "About what?" in the most neutral tone he could muster.

"Mark." It was his fathers disapproving voice. Why was it that the man could have him feeling like he was sixteen again from one word? "The least you could do is look at me after the last seven years."

"Jacob," Carol hissed before breaking down into a fresh set of tears, "Do we really need to do this here?" she wailed, "And now?"

Now his mom was making him feel guilty. The urge to get away was getting stronger and he sat himself down in one of the chairs to keep from bolting. Less than five minutes and his parents were driving him crazy. He put the case on the floor beside him and looked at the desk across the hall.

"Why don't we sit down, Carol darling?" his dad cooed, his mom nodding and allowing herself to be led over to where Mark had seated himself. "We need to talk Mark," his dad said again after Carol had finally gotten herself under control and Mark felt himself becoming quickly annoyed,

"Talk about what?" he repeated in a level voice, trying not to let his irritation show through.

"About the question of who Kat's going to live with now."

Mark's curiosity was piped and he said cautiously, "Okay."

"From the will we know that your sister wanted for you to take the children," his father continued and Mark nodded along, steeling himself. He already knew what her will said and it hurt to talk about her this way. "What we don't understand is why she would want you to."

Mark felt his fists clench from his fathers tone, looking at him for the second time. His eyes were blazing. What the hell was so wrong with him looking after his niece? "Why? I'm not good enough or something?"

"Mark," his mother whined but Mark ignored her,

"Maya wanted me to look after her."

Jacob nodded, "She did. But," he chose his words carefully, "We're not sure that she knew about your current living situation. We think that if she knew-"

"Maya knew. Maya probably knew more about me and my lifestyle than you guys do." He didn't say it to hurt them, but the look on his mom's face told him that he succeeded regardless. Well, the truth hurt sometimes.

"Do you expect any less when it takes a death in the family to bring you to us?" Jacob demanded and Mark glared at him. Before he could say anything Carol said his name,

"Mark, look at you. You're so thin and… your dad and I just think that it might be a better idea if…"

"If Kat goes with you or with Cindy?" Mark asked, standing up and turning on them, "Cindy's already got two kids and you should know that there's a reason why Maya didn't want you two to take care of her daughter," his gaze was fixed on his father, who had by now also stood. Carol gasped at his comment and Jacob bristled,

"Now look here-" he started but Mark cut him off,

"No, you look. Maya wanted me to take care of Kat and that's what I'm going to do," he looked over to his mom, pleading silently for her to help him, "I can do this."

"Mark, you shouldn't do this because you feel that you have to," Carol said carefully, taking her husband's hand and using it to pull herself up, "We'd be more than willing…"

"Mom, I'm not doing this because I have to," Roger's frazzled words came floating back to his mind, "I'm doing this because I want to."

"Mark," Carol shook her head, tears beginning to fall once again down her cheeks, "You barely even know her. When was the last time you saw her?"

He turned away from them, unable to answer the question. She was probably sixteen or seventeen right now and there was no way he could've seen her after he dropped out of Brown. And the last time he remembered meeting her family was at least a year or two before that, so… when she was ten?

"Where are you going?" his father demanded and Mark ignored him, heading towards the room number the nurse at the front desk had directed him to. He peered through the little window, thankful that his parents weren't chasing after him. At least they were giving him space.

The room was dark.

Mark knocked on the door softly before turning the handle. It was too dim inside to see through the window- even the muted television in the corner did nothing to illuminate the small room. Pushing it open there was a small breeze as the air was let out of the room. He hoped that she hadn't heard the argument. He didn't want to go inside- he didn't want to offer security. He didn't want to say that everything would be alright. He didn't want to admit that Safety was a lie.

Mark was in no condition to comfort- Fuck, he was the one who needed to be comforted. But it was better than going back to his parents.

There was a figure sitting up on the bed but it did not move. Mark entered the room and closed the door behind him. Before his eyes could fully adjust to the light he heard a soft voice call to him, "Hi Uncle Mark."

It was broken. So broken his heart almost shattered. There were traces of control but they only served to make the voice sound robotic. Robotic and broken.

Uncle Mark.

That was him.

"Hey Kitty," he replied, softly, timidly. He swallowed loudly and took a couple steps forward, shuffling uncomfortably.

He licked his lips.

He tasted salt.

It occurred to him that one of the machines was beeping and he was wondering how he didn't notice it before. He shivered. The beeping reminded him of Angel, and of Mimi in the hospital after they'd found her on Christmas Eve. That had been another Christmas spent in the hospital and he wondered how many more there would be.

"How-" abruptly he cut off the almost silent question. It was a stupid question and he berated himself for even thinking about asking it. How are you? How do you think she is, Mark? the voice in his head mocked cynically.

He took a seat in the chair beside the hospital bed, settling for something that wasn't stupid and wasn't Safe. The next best thing,

"What can I do to help?"

The girl wasn't crying.

It'd taken Mark a day and a half to get here- he wondering if she was all cried out. How much could you cry before you couldn't cry any more? How could you express a grief that was beyond tears? Roger had withdrawn. Roger had yelled and screamed and hit and cried and hurt and whispered and shook. But Roger had been a junkie. His girlfriend had just committed suicide. He had HIV. Mark didn't know how to handle Roger half the time, much less how to handle normal people- he didn't even know how to handle himself.

He could see her face in the darkness now, her soft features: a button nose, baby-fat still clinging to her cheeks despite her seventeen years, a scrape pulled shut with adhesive strips above her left eyebrow. No one could really decide who she looked like- there was no one in the family who she really resembled. The topic provided a lot of debate at family dinners (he'd only attended one since he'd left home, but he knew his family).

The dark cast a shadow over her eyes, masking them. Mark didn't know he wanted to see what would be found there. Or what couldn't be found. Yet even in the darkness he could see dried streaks that seemed etched into her face; tear streaks.

"Uncle Mark," she whispered and he was instantly attentive.

He could do this. He had to do this- he wanted to do this.

Screw comfort and screw Safe. Screw that he barely knew her or seen her since she was three.

He could do this.

"Yeah Kitty?" he whispered, trying to insert as much reassurance as he could into the two words. They both knew the only reason he was here was because of what happened. She was old enough to know what his presence and manner meant. Why it was him and not her grandparents who was going through these motions.

"Can you…" she trailed off, closing her eyes and taking a deep breath to collect herself. The way her body shuddered he knew she was crying, if not expressing any physical signs. You didn't need to be bleeding to be hurting, and Mark could see that she was drowning in pain. "Can you just… hold my hand?"

Mark nodded at the request, lifting his arms up and resting them on the rail, sliding his cold fingers underneath her colder ones. They tightened around his, shaking. "Like this?" he whispered, taking his other hand and sandwiching her hand between his.

Kat nodded and the minuscule movement almost went unnoticed by him.

"Kitty," he started, feeling almost heartless, but knowing what he was about to say needed to be addressed. This was going to be the hardest part. But just like Kat seemed to know why he was there, she seemed to know the reason behind his hesitant and stuttered words.

She interrupted him after the third time he said her name, "Uncle Mark, please. I know."

"Oh."

Well, what else could he say?

Another shuddered breath coursed through her body and he squeezed her hand tightly before releasing. Kat panicked, tensing up and thinking he was letting go, "Don't!" she half-shouted, cracking her neck and bolting up stiffly as she whipped around to look at him.

"Shh, Kitty. I'm not going anywhere," he soothed.

Mark understood where her instinct came from. He knew what the thought of having no one did to you. How it made you feel. The power of the knowledge you would eventually be alone. Mark understood where the instinct came from well, but unlike him, she was actually alone. Rather, she had been until he came along. The thought didn't make him feel good.

"Just…" she struggled with her words, leaning back against the pillows, "I'm…" closing her eyes, her hand resuming its trembling, "I'm… scared."

Mark didn't want to say that he loved her. It seemed too cliché. Kat knew that he loved her. Mark knew that she loved him. Mark knew right now he had the unconditional love blood family received, the no questions asked kind. He had learned to extend that unconditional love to those not genetically related to him but it didn't matter because they were. And it was still a form of love. And he knew he had it until he did something to snap it or strengthen it.

Kat's fingers wiggled and he wiggled back for her: "I'm right here for you kiddo."

"I know."

They stayed like that until morning, at which point Mark wasn't sure the words said between them had been verbalized.

**January 5****th**** 7:30 am EST**

It didn't take long to get Kat discharged from the hospital the next morning, and the first time Mark had to sign above the line that said, 'Parent/Legal Guardian' he felt himself starting to choke. Hesitantly he scrawled his signature on the clean white paper, indicating his newfound position as Kat's guardian. The words sent a chill through his body and he felt his throat constricted even more.

"Are you alright, sir?" the nurse asked politely and he nodded, tearing his eyes away from the line, cold sweat breaking out.

Calm down, Mark chastised himself, chill. He had to be cool - if not for his own sake, then for the girl behind the closed door beside him. Next to hers, his loss seemed trite.

"Sir? You look pale, would you like to sit down for a moment, or a glass of water?"

Mark shook his head, shoving the clipboard back into the nurse's hands before retreating into the dimmed reality of Kat's hospital room.

"Uncle Mark?" Kat called from behind the curtain, her voice tired from her fitful sleep.

"Yeah. Uh, we're good to go… whenever," he trailed off miserable, hating how dry and uncertain his voice sounded, even to himself. At least Mark had Roger and his friends back home, he knew they'd be there for him, for the time being- Kat had no one familiar. No where familiar to go.

Fuck, he was her guardian, the most familiar face she'd get for the next little while, and he knew nothing about her. He didn't know her tendencies- was she shy and withdrawn, or outgoing and energetic? He didn't know what 'normal' was for her and right now she was a shell of a person- a shell that served as a home to incomprehensible loses.

Mark didn't think he'd ever know what 'normal' was.

They were strangers, bound together by death and by blood.

**A/N: Please, donate happy. Give reviews. **

**Roger will imitate Scar from the Lion King for you if you do. :)**

**Honestly though, love any and all feedback. **


	4. January 8th 5:24 pm EST

Roger and Mimi

**January 8****th**** 5:24 pm EST**

"Mimi, what are you doing?"

Mimi stopped and turned to see Roger standing in the door, his arms folded across his chest, eyes narrowed. Hastily withdrawing her hands from where they groped the pocket of one of Mark's pants, she said the first thing that came to mind, "Looking for scissors."

_Why?_ she questioned herself as Roger asked,

"Why?"

Dropping the pants Mimi walked up to Roger, wrapping her arms around his neck with a grin, hoping inspiration would strike so she wouldn't have to admit what she'd really been doing. The frown only deepened as Roger became more suspicious. "Baby…" she started, trailing off, pushing her body into his. He held his ground, waiting patiently for an answer.

Hell. Where the fuck was inspiration when you needed it?

"Why are you going through Mark's crap?" Roger asked evenly. Mimi knew the voice. It was the 'I'm going to know if you're lying, so don't shit with me' voice. Smug bastard.

The second she thought it, she felt guilt. After all, Roger was only trying to help- he'd been through it before, and it wasn't like she'd given him much reason to trust her lately. Still…

Roger wasn't letting this one go. "I told you baby, I was looking for scissors-"

"Don't bullshit with me Mimi," Roger warned, twisting his head so that she couldn't play with his hair. Hair…! "Scissors? That's really the best you can come up with?"

"I'm not coming up with anything Roger," she pouted, confident now that she'd found a good excuse. She twirled her finger around one of his long locks of hair, "I was just thinking that you could probably use a haircut."

"A haircut?" Roger whispered, still dubious. Mimi nodded, playing confusion,

"You don't think that your hair's getting a bit on the long side?" she asked thoughtfully. _Please believe it, please believe it._ The thought of Roger disappointed in her made her want to throw up. "Honey?"

It wasn't his hair that he was concerned about. He finally broke his rigid stance, putting his hands delicately on her hips. "So you weren't looking for money?" he asked, seeking the confirmation softly, looking into her eyes. Would Mimi be able to look him in the eyes and lie?

"No." _…Yes._

Roger sighed. He wanted to believe her, he really did but… he didn't. Not yet. Not after catching her with a fistful of change the day Mark left. Not after finding her apartment empty one too many times. "Because Mark does enough for us without you stealing from him," he reminded cautiously. Mimi flared up, eyes blazing.

Maybe stealing hadn't been the right word to use, Roger thought, but it was too late to backpedal.

"I said I wasn't looking for money Roger!" she exploded, tearing herself away from Roger and situating herself on the couch, mumbling things Roger couldn't understand. Probably cursing him in Spanish. Which seemed to be happening a lot lately. With a sigh Roger pushed himself off of the wall, resisting his urge to leave the room and instead going to sit beside Mimi, who had started to shake.

"Are you cold?" he asked, pushing himself back against the arm and pulling Mimi between his legs, "You're shivering."

"I'm fine," she whispered, leaning back into his chest and letting him wrap his arms around her body. It wasn't the cold that was making her shiver, they both knew. Regardless, Roger took one of the folded blankets from the end of the couch and wrapped it around the both of them,

"I love you Mimi."

"I love you too baby," Mimi smiled.

Roger kissed the back of her head, "And I'm sorry I didn't believe you when you said you were looking for scissors."

Somehow Mimi managed a weak laugh, "It was a weird place to be looking," she admitted.

They sat in silence for a little while and Mimi slowly began to relax in Roger's arms. She closed her eyes, knowing that he would let her go, wouldn't let her screw up again even if she somehow got the money. Roger would take care of her, just like he had when they'd gotten back from the hospital, when she was going through the worst of withdrawal.

Wouldn't let her fuck up… if only he knew how close she was to cracking. Again.

The urge for a hit started consuming her body but she forced herself to stay where she was. Only a few more dollars and she'd have enough for… only a few more dollars and…

But if she admitted what she was doing, if she allowed herself to feel guilty for lying to Roger it would disappear. Any chance she would have of another… another would wash down the drain. So she ignored it. After all, she'd promised herself that the next one would be the last. Just one more and she would stop…

"I'm not strong like you are baby," she whispered, unable to withhold her tears and thankful that Roger couldn't see them; thankful her shivering made the shake of crying less noticeable.

Roger tightened his grip, frowning at the odd comment, "Mimi, you're stronger than you think you are. You came back to me, didn't you?" he reminded and Mimi bit her lip whispering,

"But Angel was there. She helped me come back to you,"

"And Mark helped me through withdrawal," Roger countered. "I didn't do it alone. I couldn't have done it alone. No one can do it alone Meems."

You can't do it alone. I won't let you. Let me help you.

Mimi knew that was what he was really saying, but she couldn't bring herself to ask for the help. No, she could do this on her own. Roger had already experienced it- he didn't need to see her struggling with addiction. An addiction he thought she had overcome… so then was she misinterpreting him? Did he know or didn't he? And what did it mean for her…

Thoughts and feelings jumbled into a mess of emotions and she didn't know what she thought any more. Everything she said or felt seemed to contradict itself. Most prominent was the need for another high clashing with the desire to be clean. Love for the needle wrestling with her love for Roger and for life.

Trembling, she detached herself from Roger, ignoring his moans of protest.

"Mimi, where are you going?" he whined, reluctantly crawling off the cushions and following her as she left the room. "Mimi," he said, starting to panic as she headed to the door, refusing to answer him. "Mimi, what's going on?"

The door to the loft slide open but Roger caught Mimi's arm before she could leave, "Tell me what I said," he pleaded, unable to comprehend what had happened on the bed to make her this way. To make her seem so… hopeless.

"I just don't think..." _I can do it._

"Mimi, what's wrong?" Roger prompted when she didn't finish.

_Everything. _"Nothing," she muttered, looking down, "Forget I said anything."

Roger pulled her into a hug, kissing her head, "Are you sure you're okay?"

_No. _"I'm fine sweetheart."

Roger seemed to buy into the half-smile on her face. "When was the last time you ate?" he asked, changing tactics.

_Yesterday? Two days ago? _"Before I came up here," she quickly lied, hoping he would accept the answer.

"Really?"

_No. _"Yes."

"Come back inside, I'll make you something to eat," he offered, flashing a smile that made her weak in the knees. How could she lie to that face? How could she say no?

Reluctantly she followed Roger into the loft, hating how he cared for her and hating herself for not.

**A/N: So was that at all confusing? Because it has a lot of potential to be, and I really need to know if I need to fix it. I also noticed that the first chapter got a great response, the second one did... alright, but the third was a little... well, non-existant. Is it moving too slowly, or too quickly, or does it suck and that's why no one's reviewing? Let me know! **

**Please review! **


	5. January 8th 9:33 pm EST

Mark and Kat

**January 8****th**** 9:33 pm EST**

When Mark came back to the hotel room after checking in with Roger he turned on the light for only a second before realizing that Kat was trying to sleep. He snapped it off immediately, not wanting to wake the girl up or bring her back if she was drifting off. Quietly as he could he changed and brushed his teeth, slipping into bed, relieved to hear Kat's steady breathes.

Kat had been having difficulties getting to sleep for the past three days, and what sleep she did get was fitful to say the least. Mark could hear her in the night, tossing and turning, sometimes even letting a whimper out before snapping awake and breathing heavily. Eventually the erratic breathing would slow from sleep deprivation but soon the cycle would begin again. He always resisted the urge to get up and comfort her- they were still too much of strangers for that. He didn't want to make her uncomfortable.

Kat hadn't wanted to go back to the home she lived in before the accident, and so Mark took out a hotel room, pushing its cost out of his head. But even after three days of being proverbially attached at the hip to her, he wasn't any closer to knowing his niece.

No, the past couple days hadn't been good at all and today… well, today had been the funeral.

The funeral and wake had been organized by Mark's parents, who arranged everything in a surprisingly short amount of time. It seemed to be a little too quick for him. He couldn't imagine how it felt for Kat.

Mark couldn't shake the feeling that Kat hadn't entirely been there more than 2 minutes at a time every hour or two. Early in the day he'd wrapped his arm around her shoulders, guiding her as she put one foot in front of the other, her face and eyes blank. He rarely let go. Even when he took one of the coffin handles, she was beside him, walking like a body without a soul.

There was no possibility that Kat could accept what had happened in such a short amount of time- for him it was surreal to watch the boxes that held his oldest sister, her husband and son lowered to the ground. His mother and father had been sobbing uncontrollably the entire time, Cindy balling off to the side… but Kat just leaned into his half-embrace, single tears sliding slowly down her cheeks.

_Denial denial denial denial denial denial denial denial denial…_

People offered condolences. They hadn't gone to the wake- Mark knew Kat would never be able to step foot in the house again.

_Not me not me not me not me not me not me not me not me…_

He could almost hear the words, a steady chant throughout the day that never wavered, just like he stood by her side, never really letting go.

_Get me out get me out get me out get me out get me out…_

Even when her friends came up she was empty, only present in body, so removed that he slipped his phone number to the boy that claimed to be her best friend and seemed like he actually cared.

_What's real what's not what's real what's not what's not…_

Kat had said a total of four words to him the entire day. "I can't stay here."

_Anywhere but here anywhere but here anywhere but here…_

Mark got them tickets for a ride out the next morning.

O.o.O.o.O.o.O.o.O

When Kat finally snapped out of her subconsciously evoked trance, huddled deep in unfamiliar sheets and a scratchy pillow of the hotel room, it felt like it'd been only an hour ago that she held the phone in her hand.

Felt like it was just one hour after her life had come to a complete and abrupt standstill.

Numb was unexpectedly ripped away, leaving a gaping hole behind to be filled with darkness and despair.

Tears shook her to her core, convulsing her body in hysterical sobs of pain and loss that surpassed any emotion she'd ever experienced.

Mark listened for half a minute before getting up off his bed. He couldn't do it- he just couldn't lay there and listen to her crying alone. It was different than before- different than the half-tears and the whimpers. This was full out sobbing, and he couldn't just lie there.

Fuck it, who was he trying to kid? _He_ didn't want to be alone either. The world just seemed so much colder and smaller, and it was slowly closing in on him. Crossing the short space to her bed, he sat down gingerly, not wanting to startle her. The crying subsided somewhat, but Mark knew she wasn't through. Not by a long shot.

"Ma-a-k?" she whispered to the wall, hiccupping softly.

That voice again. The broken one he'd heard in the hospital, only this time let loose to pillage and destroy her very being. To leave pieces lying on the ground not only shattered, but crumbled into a fine dust that could and would slowly be blown away by time.

No, there wasn't going to be any of that 'picking up the pieces' bullshit, Mark knew that. Maybe that was why Maya had chosen him. Because he knew that Kat would never be able to pick up those pieces; there weren't any pieces to pick up. No, an entirely new structure would need to be build, in wake and in memory of the old and destroyed. And it would take time.

Wordlessly he got under the covers, squirming over to her. Touching her cautiously on the side, he felt her tense up.

That wasn't a good sign. He wanted to comfort her, not creep her out.

Mark was getting ready to retreat when he heard her let out a loud, heart wrenching sob, so different than the almost silent ones before. "Come'er," he murmured, aching to help her in any way possible. When he felt her turn he wrapped an arm around her waist, pulling her in close to him, resting his chin on her jerking head.

"I-" it was more a gasp than a actual word but Mark hushed her,

"You don't have to talk right now if you don't want to. Just let it all out Kitty," he muttered, hoping she would understand the jumble of words that'd escaped his mouth.

Kat nodded, curling up tightly and pressing herself into Mark's body, seizing the fabric of his shirt and just holding on. She was at the point where it was debatable if she'd ever let go. For the past two and a half days there'd been no one there for her.

Oh sure, there were the nurses and the doctors, who were nice. There was her overbearing grandmother and grandfather. There were the technicians, the police, the lawyers, the firefighters, and friends even- all wondering how she was doing. All asking the same thing. All promising the same thing. The memories of them all hidden behind a haze as she struggled to remember exactly what had happened.

She felt herself starting to go at it again and clutched onto Mark harder. He tightened his grip and she focused on the security she felt in his arms, the compassion and love and pain coming from his embrace.

Mark was here for her. Even though Mark had no money, Mark didn't have a job, Mark didn't have food, Mark lived in one of the worst neighborhoods in New York City (according to her grandparents, anyways) and even though she was the last thing that Mark needed in his life right now… he was still here. Holding her and making sure she knew that he was there.

It had taken three days for her to realize that Mark was there, waiting for her to notice him. Three days of being led around like a life-less puppet, of being numb, of being detached from the world. Now she was ready to lean on Mark, and start slowly clearing away some of the particles that clogged her heart and made it hard to think and breathe.

.

.

**A/N: Hi there. How you doing? Just wanted to know this was moving along fast enough for you guys. Is it too slow, should I speed things up? Right now the focus is on mostly Mark and Kat, but it will shift in a while so it's more comprehensive of the whole group. I just need to get Kat established and Mark established, and well, everyone established. **

**Note- I had a review for a different fiction that brought up something I wanted to say; Kat is not a self-insert or a Mary Sue. We're both girls, but I'm not nearly as cool as she is... or well, depressed. She's a character I felt would be necessary to give this story a nice full arch and nudge all the other tales along. For those of you who don't really like OC's, well, I hope you like this one. **

**Thank you to **ceruleanstargolw **and **Grapetheape **who reviewed the last chapter. Sooooo releived and happy to hear that it made sense.**

Please review- it means a lot to me. Even if it's just a one letter- I'll know you liked the story enough to make the effort.

_Anyone want to beta? Hehee. _


	6. January 9th 2:29 pm EST

The Loft

**January 9****th**** 2:29 pm EST**

"So this is our building here…" Mark announced, suddenly nervous. He knew his sister was wealthy- or at least, actually had money, unlike him. The house that Kat's family lived in… had lived in, he corrected himself solemnly, was at the extreme end of a spectrum where his house would be placed opposite.

Kat adjusted the duffle bag on her shoulders, swallowing nervously. "You sure that… I mean, Grams and Gramps… It's just-"

Mark put a hand on her shoulder, "I'm positively absolutely undeniably unconditionally certain Kat. Besides," he smiled lightly, pulling her under his arm, "I need someone other than Mimi who's smaller than me."

There wasn't a laugh, but then again, Mark wasn't really expecting one. Instead there was a decidedly un-enthusiastic question; "Who's Mimi?"

"My roommate Roger's girlfriend."

"Oh," Kat's step faltered and Mark stopped, releasing her shoulders, "Will she be there?" she asked nervously, with the ever present underlying sadness.

Mark glanced up at the building, following her line of vision, "I don't think so." He decided not to add that it was probably because Mimi had recently gotten back from the hospital and was currently confined to her loft and about a million blankets, courtesy of Roger. Or, she was the last time he checked in.

"Roger will be though." Mark was quick to add, "But you don't have to talk to him if you don't want to," at the sight of her slightly crestfallen face.

Kat nodded, biting her lip in an effort not to cry. Instead of going home she was in New York. Instead of a family she had Uncle Mark and his 'roommate Roger'. The silent admission of her loss was too much and soon the familiar feel of Mark's fingers touched her cheeks as he wiped away the tears pooling under her eyes before pulling her into a hug.

"You can do this Kat," he encouraged softly, "I know you can." He pulled away and helplessly stared at the salty water dripping down her face. He took off his scarf, wrapping it around her neck and high up on her cheeks, discreetly soaking up the tears. "It's cold," he said with a knowing smile, "Come'on." He took her under his arm again and headed up the stairs.

"You live on the top floor?" Kat asked, her voice a little muffled by the scarf covering her cheeks. She was grateful for it- whether or not Mark realized, it would help hide the tears from what was bound to be Mark's sympathetic roommate. Her mom had told her that much about Uncle Mark's life…

Her Mom.

Something punched her in the stomach and she slipped on the stairs, Mark catching her before she was even falling. "You okay?" he asked, instantly worried.

Kat nodded, unsure how to explain without breaking down completely; but he could see the tears in her eyes, the light blue of his scarf already tinged a little darker from the moist drops falling and he understood. Not sure what else he could say, Mark knocked on the loft door, which opened surprisingly quickly.

Roger must have been waiting for him.

The second he was through the door and had placed his case on the ground, Roger gave him a full out bear hug. Mark laughed at Roger's uncharacteristic show of affection, squirming a little in the other man's arms as his chest began to feel heavier. During the withdrawal, Roger had been relatively weak- relative that is, compared to someone like Collins, not Mark, who had then been and still was a pale scrawny twig. But now he was starting to get some muscle back in his arms, the result of which was his ability to lift Mark up almost effortlessly.

"Roger, shit man I can't breathe," he gasped after catching sight of Kat's face. It was true, but not because of Roger's grasp- the look on Kat's face was devastating.

"I'm happy you're back man," Roger smiled, letting him go and backing away. "How are you?" he asked a little more seriously but Kat interrupted before Mark could answer,

"Can I go to my room please?" she asked softly, her eyes now trained on the ground.

Roger turned around, seemingly noticing her for the first time. "Hey. I'm Roger. Davis. I'm Mark's roommate."

"He's my best friend Kat," Mark added and Roger grinned at him. He would have added, 'the one I told you about', but there hadn't been much speaking going on between the two of them. Out of what had, relationships weren't anywhere near the top of the list.

Kat looked up at him but didn't smile. "Hi," she said softly, managing to put enough pain and sadness into the one word for Roger to step out of the handshake he'd offered.

An awkward silence settled on the trio until Kat shuffled her feet, eyes down on the ground once again, "So could I… go to my room Uncle Mark?" she asked. Roger sent a glance towards Mark, who nearly jumped at the opportunity to break up the depressing party,

"Of course you can. Here, let me show you where it is," he led her to the room just left of the loft door. Roger agreed to give it up until the one actual bedroom in the loft was fixed, taking Mark's bed on the small overhang fondly called the Perch while Mark crashed on one of the various couches or Roger's lawn chair/mattress bed. He'd shoved all his records against one wall while Mark was gone and pressed his clothes into a couple milk crates. Collins had found them a mattress and rickety frame from somewhere and Mark was impressed that Roger had managed to secure sheets from somewhere and knew how to use them.

"It's nothing much," he said apologetically; it really was nothing compared to what Kat had with her family, down to the curtains on shower rings they'd draped across the top long ago to act as a door. "The rest of your stuff should come in later this week and if it's okay with you, then we can move you to the room under my bed," he explained, feeling more and more inadequate by the second. How sad was it that he didn't actually have his own room? "There's just a couple… problems with it now, and it's not ready. Will you be fine here?"

Kat nodded at his words, sitting down on the bed and cringing when the springs protested loudly. "Thank you Uncle Mark," she muttered, unwrapping the scarf from her face and holding it out for him to take. Mark took the couple steps forward, took the scarf and sat down beside her. Almost unconsciously she leaned against him and he pulled his arm back around her,

"Look, I know this is got to be hard for you, and I'm really proud of how you've handled it so far." His mother's words coming out of his mouth. He was saying what he thought he should be saying and it sounded odd to him.

The words sounded fake.

"Uncle Mark, you don't have to do this," Kat interjected before he could embarrass himself more. Mark nodded,

"Do you want me to bring you some dinner later on?" he looked at his watch, "It's uh, just about three."

"I think I might just… go to sleep. If that's okay with you," she added hesitantly. First she was asking him if it was okay to go to her room, and now she was asking him if it was okay to sleep. Her manner meant something and he wasn't sure if he liked the direction it was heading.

"Kitty-"

"Please?" Kat interrupted, uncannily knowing the tone and what it premeditated.

Mark nodded, deciding to let it slide for the time being but not before saying, "Why wouldn't you be able to?" She didn't answer and he didn't really know why he asked. "How about I leave something for you on the box if you're sleeping next time I come in? That way you'd have something to eat if you woke up at night."

Kat nodded, suddenly scared to be alone with her own thoughts. Mark smiled at her but it did nothing to ease her nerves. She pulled the duffle bag up to her bed, clutching it tightly. It was all she had of her old life, one where Mark was just some random guy in a family picture.

The tears were back, but Mark was thankfully already up and by the door, "Kitty, I'll be sleeping on the couch if you need me," he pointed across the loft. "I know the nights are hard. If you need anything, I'll be there, okay?"

"Okay," Kat whispered, losing the battle to keep her tears at bay.

"Kitty…" Mark came back and sat down on the bed again, half-on half-off. Kat didn't know if he could see her tears or not. If he did, he ignored them, pulling the duffle out of her hands and taking them. "Can you…" he stopped nervously before continuing, "Promise me that if you need something you'll let me know?"

Real words- Mark words, coming out of his mouth. Instead of brushing him off, Kat managed a quivering smile, and a whispered, "Okay."

"Have a good sleep Kitty," Mark whispered back, as they seemed to be in a whispering mood. He leaned forward and kissed her softly on the forehead, knowing the act always reassured him as a child. Kat's eyes were already closed and he adjusted the pillow before leaning her back. He wasn't sure if she was actually asleep but lifted her legs off the side of the bed and onto the bed nonetheless, tucking her in. Kissing her one more time, he hesitated before closing the curtains, hearing his name being said softly. But her head turned into her pillow, and for once Mark hoped she would get a goods night rest.

"Whoa," Roger said the second the fabric closed, appearing beside Mark so quickly Mark had to wonder where he'd been lurking. Roger's mouth curled into a soft frown as he followed behind Mark, who trailed into the kitchen.

Mark turned around when Roger was following so close he was bumping into him, "What?"

"Was… I that sad-looking when April died?" he asked tentatively, quietly so that Kat couldn't hear him, "'Cause man, that girl's like walking depression."

Shaking his head, Mark rummaged through the fridge, trying to find something edible, "It's not the same Roger. She just lost everyone she grew up with. Mom and Dad, dead. Little brother, dead. Even all her friends are miles and miles away. She doesn't have anyone except for me. Of course she's going to be a little more than sad."

"You never answered my question," Roger accused suddenly.

Mark turned to face him. "What question?" he asked slowly.

"How you were doing. I know, Kat?" Mark nodded, "I know Kat's depressed, but how are you taking things?"

Mark shrugged, pulling out some milk and realizing that the only thing they really had was Captain Crunch. He was pretty sure Roger would die from malnutrition if he ever left. Roger was still looking at him and instead of answering the question Mark said, "It's her I'm worried about," refusing to give Roger anything else. "How's Mimi doing?"

"I caught her going through your stuff yesterday," Roger admitted, "She had her hand down your pants."

They both took a second to contemplate what Roger had just said and Mark cracked a grin while Roger growled, "I didn't mean it like that idiot. And if you get any ideas-" the threat was cut off,

"I'm not going to go after your girl Roger," Mark assured. "What was she looking for?"

"What do you think? Money." Mark scowled. "She said she was looking for scissors, but-"

Even though he thought he knew where this was going, he couldn't control his smirk, "Scissors?" That must have been one amusing confrontation. Roger was glaring at him,

"Apparently my hair's getting really long. Shut-up," he grumbled when Mark started laughing. "The point is, I caught her snooping around for money."

"Shit man," Mark muttered, finally processing what it meant, "You think she's-"

After a suspicion glance at the fire escape, Roger took a step forward. "I know she is." He frowned, "But I can't watch her all the time. Just, don't leave anything lying around, 'kay?"

"No prob-" the ringing of the phone cut Mark off and he closed him mouth to stare at it. Neither one of them moved to answer it, both wondering who it could be. Joanne or Maureen? They were the only ones who really called; or maybe it was Collins. Roger went to the window sharing these thoughts with Mark, but shook his head. There was no one outside calling to get in.

Mark silently cursed when the answering machine came on; hopefully the piercing rings and slurred message hadn't woken Kat up. That is, if she was even asleep. Which wasn't all that likely,

"_Hello, this is Mr. Froban of Jacobs and Sons. I'm calling for a Mark Cohen,_" Mark weaved his way through the furnishing, "_In regards to his late sister Maya and-_"

"Hi, sorry. This is Mark," Mark breathed as he finally got across the loft and picked up the phone. Roger watched as Mark frowned at what the guy on the other end was saying, mhmm-ing and nodding his head. "I'm in New York, at the moment, is that… Will I need a... Okay, that makes sense… Yes I do… Tomorrow at nine? What's the address... I'll check but it sounds good…. I'll see you then."

"Who was it?" Roger asked the second Mark placed the phone down on the cradle. There was something slightly disturbing about the look on his face as Mark stared at the phone. "Mark?" Roger asked, crossing the loft and putting a hand on his friends shoulder. "You okay?" he asked when Mark didn't turn around.

"They need me to meet with them tomorrow morning," Mark answered distantly; "They said there were a couple things that weren't discussed in our meetings that needed to be addressed."

"Tomorrow at nine?" Roger guessed and Mark nodded, "You need a lawyer?" he guessed and Mark nodded again,

"How did you-"

Roger shrugged, "It makes sense. Are you going to ask Joanne?"

"Yeah, I think I will. I think… I think I'm going to go check on Kat," he muttered, slipping away from Roger who was left standing by the phone, wondering what it was about the meeting that had Mark so bothered.

He picked up the phone and dialed the girls' number, deciding that he'd call Joanne to ask her about the meeting before heading down to Mimi's, just in case Mark was with Kat until morning.

It was the least he could do, wasn't it?

**January 9****th**** 4:09 pm EST**

"Mark," Kat whispered desperately, her voice nasally from her plugged nose. She hadn't been able to close her eyes without seeing the face of one of her family and couldn't understand how she was still there while they were gone. As much as she didn't want to leave herself open to having it happen to her again, she needed to know someone else was there. That she wasn't all alone. Tears had long ago made her eyes bright red and puffy, staining her cheeks with a pink hue as pillow and blanket scratched against the delicate wet skin.

There was a call from behind the curtains and Kat didn't bother turning around. The rings slid on the piping as silently as the ancient piece of shit could, and Kat once again whispered Mark's name as she heard them closing.

The floor was clear of any obstacles and Mark made it across the room in record time. "I'm right here Kitty," he whispered, kneeling down on the ground and putting his elbows on the bed. The mattress sunk down a little and Kat turned around. What Mark saw in the soft light filtering through the sheet Roger had duct taped over the window made him cringe.

The girl was in pain and he couldn't do anything to make it easier for her. "Mark," she whispered, broken and begging to not be left alone; pleading silently for connection, comfort and contact- for proof that she wasn't abandoned in the world.

Mark knew what she needed, "Would you, uh, mind if I joined you for a little while?" he asked, "I guess I'm a little tired too."

He missed the nod, but her shuffle to the opposite side of the bed made it clear that she accepted his offer. Crawling on top of the blankets, he lay on his side and they faced each other. "I got a call just before I came in here," he said softly and she recoiled. There would only be one reason why he'd tell her something like that.

"The people at your parent's uh, legal firm, want to meet with me tomorrow," he continued, watching for any sign from her that would scream for him to stop. Pushing her into something and alienating her was the last thing he wanted to do.

"Mark," she pleaded, eyes glazed, and he got his sign.

"Okay," he relented. "You can come…" she hid her face from him with the blankets between them and he quickly backpedaled, "Will you be alright staying with Roger, tomorrow, uh, for a couple hours tomorrow?"

"Roger?" she asked, pulling the blanket away. She was crying again.

Mark felt his heart sink a little, "My roommate. It'll only be for two or three hours at the most."

His niece nodded, sniffing, "Tell them… that I don't want anything," she muttered and Mark nodded,

"Are you sure?"

"Yes," Kat choked out before breaking and curling up into Mark's sweater. She was sobbing and Mark rubbed her back, wishing there was something more he could do. Just doing this made him feel like a failure. He muttered soothing sweet-nothings in her ear while she shook in his arms.

They must have drifted off together, because the next time Mark was aware of Kat she was snuggled deeper into his chest, the room was now dark and Mark couldn't hear any signs of Roger moving about in the loft. Kat was awake and her voice was muffled because of blankets and clothes,

"Mark, will it get easier?" she asked and the tears she'd cried before still lingered in her tone.

Mark took a second to think of his response, knowing what she needed to hear but also wanting to tell her the truth.

He thought of how Roger was now, compared to when April had died, then an inconsolable mess. He thought of Collins, who was just now getting his other foot on the ground after Angel's death. He thought of his acquaintances at life support, those who were there and those that weren't, and how the meetings continued regardless and perhaps because of their absence.

"Yes," he whispered, finding some comfort in the word as it applied to him and his closest friends. No day but today, right? "Eventually it will. It may not feel like it now Kitty, but, but it will eventually…"

Kat nodded and after letting loose a couple more tears she was breathing evenly in sleep, something Mark hadn't heard before. It had always been tossing and turning, fitful gasps of air- breathe breathe stop. Gasp, breathe breathe gasp, stop. Now it was steady and even. He smiled, pressing his cheek into her pillow as she held onto him- quite literally hanging on for life. Her life.

Everyday she was getting closer to rebuilding her life. Piece by piece she was picking through the thousands that had shattered to the ground that day almost a week ago and he was happy and proud for and of her. She would make it, he realized, as long as she had support she would make it.

It occurred to him how good it had felt to laugh with Roger, and he wondered how long it would take Kat to finally open herself up enough to laugh. Until she would allow herself to experience that feeling again.

But for now he was happy enough that she was letting him know when she needed him. He couldn't do much more than be there for her, however useless it made him feel and he accepted that. He would help her make it, however he could.

**A/N: Thank you for the amazing reviews- they meant a lot to me! I know this chapter is a little... weird... I don't know. There's something about it off, but I have no idea what it is, but I know it's there... I just can't seem to fix it. Maybe cause I'm editing it at two in the morning after work... Jeez I'm really tired. Annyway, sorry about that.  
**

**So, the Perch is something I explain in a one-shot I wrote titled, Mark's Ladder. You don't have to read it, but if you want to see what I'm talking about, it's there for you. **

**Please review! I do very much appreciate them.**


	7. January 10th 7:02 am EST

"_Katharine, we're home!"_

_Katharine jumped up from her desk, eager for any excuse to get away from her math homework. Looking down she saw half the math worksheet covered with a doodle of the tree branches outside her window and she sighed, wondering at what point factoring had become sketching. It was done in pen, and she knew that she'd have to finish and hand in it with the picture on it. _

"_Katharine?!"_

_Sighing, she pulled on a sweater and abandoned the work- it wouldn't be a first anyways, and Katharine thought the teacher secretly enjoyed the random sketches that were found over almost everything she handed in. She pulled on a sweater and jumped down the stairs two at a time, landing on the small rug at the foot of the stairs. It slid over the sleek hardwood because of her weight and she fell to the ground to avoid bumping the dinning table that occupied the nook. _

"_Katharine, be careful," came the exasperated voice as her mom sidestepped her sprawled form on her way to the kitchen. _

_Rolling her eyes Katharine carefully returned the rug to its proper place, calling, "I'm fine if you wanted to know. I've got no broken bones, or, you know, concussions to worry about," she wandered into the kitchen during her rant, sighing dramatically, "Don't waste your breath worrying about me, I'm fine. No, really-"_

"_Are you alright?" _

"_Yes Mother," Katharine grinned at the desired question, kissing her mom on the cheek before dancing around her body and pulling the fridge open. _

"_How was yesterday's show?" she asked, genuinely interested. Katharine pulled out an apple, _

"_Fine. Larson tripped over the lamp cord during the scene change between act two and three." _

"_Was he okay?" _

_Katharine shrugged, washing the apple at the sink and wiggling, unable to stay still, "I think his pride took a number on that one."_

"_So what happened?"_

"_No big deal. The light in the lamp broke."_

"_Really?" _

"_Mhmm," Katharine nodded, taking a bite into the apple and grinning, "And it started sparking when the wash came up. Apparently the teasers across the proscenium almost caught fire while they were trying to figure out how to take the light out of the wash." _

_Maya regarded her daughter with a look of skepticism, "That sounds like it would be a big deal to me."_

"_Not really," Katharine shrugged again, sliding into the seat behind the small bar table, "Joey was getting ready to go out with the fire extinguisher though," _

"_Wouldn't a contemporary extinguisher ruin the whole mood of a period piece?" _

"_Mom, I'm pretty sure we weren't as concerned with keeping the time period consistent than with the fact the stage might burn down." Katharine laughed at the memory, wishing she could have seen the faces on those who were onstage. Probably mortified of breaking character, all trying to scramble to cover for the klutz of a stage hand. _

"_Do you have a lot of homework to get done?" Maya was asking and Katharine shook her head, _

"_Just a lot of math, but I can do that Saturday morning. Why?" _

"_I rented Edward Scissorhands and Die Hard II- if you go finish your homework we can watch one of them after dinner."_

"_How did you-"_

"_I know what the list on your wall means- give me a little credit." _

"_I love you I love you I love youuuuu!" Katharine giggled, dancing out of the kitchen, slipping and sliding the entire way with her half-eaten apple. Maya laughed at her daughters antics, calling after her,_

"_Be careful!" _

"_Yeah!" Katharine yelled as slide to the base of the stairs. The front door opened as she hopped up the first two, causing her to whip around and jump back down, "You're home!" she giggled happily, dancing around her little brother to give her dad a quick kiss on the cheek. _

_Keith watched with a light smirk as Katharine took Ryan's stick from bewildered boys hands, treating it as a dance partner while she whirled around the foyer. "Dad," Ryan said as Keith took his sons coat and hung it in the closet, "Why did you have to adopt Katharine?" he asked seriously and Keith couldn't help but laugh as Katharine stopped her dancing and glared at her younger brother, _

"_You're the one who was adopted, Ryan," she teased, "Mom and Dad got you from the gypsies when they were passing by. I would know- I was there." _

"_Yeah, well-" Ryan's comeback was cut short as Maya interrupted, completing the family gathering and playing peacekeeper, _

"_Katharine, why don't you go finish your homework while Ryan puts away his hockey stuff. We'll eat and then go up to the family room,"_

"_Why?" Ryan asked, wrinkling his nose in semi-disgust. Katharine rolled her eyes- he was in that awkward age where everything and anything done with parents was considered 'boring' or 'stupid'. _

"_Mom got the new Die Hard genius," she quipped and Ryan stuck out his tongue. "Mature," she muttered with a sigh and Ryan took the stick from her hands,_

"_Yeah, well…"_

"_Well what?" Katharine asked as Ryan's voice faltered. He wasn't looking at her even though he faced her direction and suddenly she was very worried. "Ry? Ryan, are you alright?" she asked, taking a step forward. Ryan's eyes lost a little of their shine and she felt herself get a little colder. "Come'on Ry, I was just kidding when I said…" _

_Ryan didn't answer her, arms weighed down lifelessly at his side; the stick had disappeared and Katharine looked to behind him to her dad for help. Her heart started to hammer in her ears when she realized the same vacant look on his face that Ryan had. "Da-d?" she asked hesitantly, her voice cracking. Her fathers eyes only dulled more so, sending an uncomfortable shiver down her spine. _

"_Mom, they're," terror overwhelmed her and weighed down the words in her throat as she turned around to see two large caskets and a smaller one floating at eye level. Taking a step back she shouted, "Mom? Mom! Where did you go?!" She turned back around to see that her father and brother were also gone. _

_The caskets behind her started to moan and she seized up, unable to move, unable to get any words out. _

_It was a nightmare she realized suddenly._

_This was just a nightmare- that was all. _

_And all she had to do was-_

The Loft

**January 10****th**** 7:02 am EST**

"Hey, Kat, you okay?" Roger asked, scared to touch the withering girl. He kept glancing towards the open curtains, hoping that by some miracle Mark would rush in and save him. But Mark was still in the shower and Kat was finally beginning to wake up, after sleeping for more than 12 hours. And with Mark getting ready for his meeting with the lawyers it was Roger who got up to investigate the strange sounds coming from his old bedroom.

Kat turned her face away from the pillow and Roger saw that it was damp beneath her cheek. He could tell her eyes were red even though they were closed and knew she must have been crying long before he entered the room.

For a second relief flashed on Kat's face. It passed quickly, however, and Roger watched as she blinked a couple times in the bright light. His blanket-duct-tape contraption didn't really work out as well as he had hoped. Roger tried to look apologetic, "Mark's going out today to buy some curtains for this room. I don't usually care about light…"

That's it, he thought to himself sarcastically; remind her that she just started living here.

"Who are you?" she asked and Roger felt a little piece of him break at the question. Of course she wouldn't know who he was, but she sounded so sad. Her voice was broken and she looked like she couldn't decide whether to keep her eyes open or closed. Tears pooled in the corners of her glazed eyes, unsure if they should fall or not.

"Roger," he answered softly, resisting the urge to hold her hand. He didn't know her and she didn't know him. It wouldn't be right. "Davis. Roger Davis, that is. I'm uh, Mark's roommate, remember? He's in the shower but I can grab him if you-"

Kat shook her head, her body shaking so much Roger wasn't sure if it was intentional or not. "Or I could stay here," he offered, watching her closely and getting more comfortable on the bed. It really wasn't his place to ask any personal questions, and Mark showed no signs of acting the savior and walking through the bedroom door. For some reason he couldn't bring himself to leave after she'd asked him to stay.

He didn't understand why she wanted him to stay though.

"For a second I was with them," she whispered, her eyes closed and a light smile playing on her face. Roger froze.

When he came into the room he wasn't asking for this. All he wanted was to make sure she was still breathing for when Mark got out of the shower. No, there was no way he was going to let the kid continue her current train of thought. "We've got bacon," he announced, wringing his hands together and hoping he didn't sound as pathetic to her as he did to himself. Could he make it any more obvious that he didn't want her to continue?

"Bacon?" she asked with that broken voice of hers and Roger winced.

"Yeah," he replied hoarsely, and she looked at him for a minute, eyes swimming with emotion. It only took a second for him to look down. Who was he trying to kid? He couldn't do this. He couldn't stand seeing someone like this. Glancing at the door he sent a silent plea to Mark to come and save him.

"I don't like bacon," she whispered softly and Roger didn't know what to say, so he sat there becoming more uncomfortable with every second that passed of her looking at him. When the desire to fidget became too intense he stood up. Kat turned towards the wall, her back to him and he fled the room, shutting the curtain quietly on his way out, sighing a breath of relief.

He shook off the chills he'd gotten from being with her and jumped when he turned around. Mark stared at his odd reaction, blond hair still wet and dripping onto the many layers of sweaters. "What's up with you? Is Kat alright?"

"Sleeping, I think," Roger said, shifting away from the door and making a beeline for the table that separated the 'kitchen' and 'living room'.

Mark cast a glance at the closed curtains before following Roger, "What's wrong?"

Roger collapsed on one of the chairs, his head in his hands, "Your niece is messed up man," he muttered.

"Roger!" Mark protested.

Roger grumbled into his hands, "What?"

Obviously something was wrong with the guy, and as much as Mark wanted to be sympathetic, Roger's bluntness was uncalled for, "Don't be a dick. Kat just lost her family; what the hell do you except?" He sat down as well, across from Roger.

"For her," Roger was still mumbling into his hands, "To not be so… intense and creepy and destroyed."

Mark couldn't help but laugh, "Are you seriously scared of a seventeen year old girl? I thought you were tough," he grinned and Roger glared up at him,

"I haven't exactly been Mister Tough since withdrawal Mark."

Mark winced at the tone. Yes, something was definitely bothering Roger, it didn't take a genius to figure that much out. As to what it was that bothered Roger, however… "Did you talk to her?" Mark asked, determined to get to the bottom of the problem.

"She started moaning after you got into the shower so I went in to go see if everything was alright…"

"And was it?" Mark prompted, eyes darting to the door, forcing himself to listen to Roger instead of checking himself.

"I don't know… she said something like… 'I was with them' or something creepy like that."

"Roger!"

Roger winced at the almost-yell and glared, "What?!" He stopped himself when he saw Mark's expression. "Why are you looking at me like that?" he asked a little nervously.

Mark looked like he was torn between wanting to hug Roger and hit Roger. He stood up, "Because!" he almost shouted, and Roger leaned back slightly, "Do you realize that she's said virtually nothing these past couple days? To anyone? Much less a stranger?"

"Hey," Roger protested, suddenly getting very defensive, "It's not like I went in there and started demanding stuff! She just started talking and I cut her off!"

"Roger," Mark said gently, realizing that Roger misinterpreted his outburst, "This is a good thing. It means that… I don't know. She's not numb anymore or something."

"Numb?" Roger questioned.

Mark nodded, sitting back down and ducking his head embarrassingly, "I mean, when I first heard I guess I was a little… numb. It was surreal, like it wasn't actually happening. Like it didn't happen… I still don't really believe it…" Mark trailed off, picking at a dry drop of sticky something on the table.

"Are you okay?" Roger asked, leaning forward and focusing intently on Mark's features. He knew that Mark was going to blow off the question, but he wanted to see if he could catch any tells to confront him with later.

"It's got to be harder on her…" Mark shrugged, looking towards the door, "I mean-"

"Yeah, I know. Her family." Roger winced; he hadn't wanted it to come out quite that harshly. "But I was asking about _you_ Mark. You lost someone too."

Mark was silent for a second, his face taking on a look that resembled that of a hurt puppy. He noted the expression. When Mark finally spoke, it wasn't to him, "Hey Kitty," he greeted warmly, giving a cautious smile. Roger stiffened, feeling Kat's eyes burning into his back.

Waves of guilt for leaving her in the room alone hit him hard and he shifted uneasily. Mark raised an eyebrow but didn't say anything to him. Instead, "Want some bacon?"

Kat shook her head and after a pause sat down beside Mark, across from Roger. Roger could feel her staring even though he wasn't looking. "She doesn't like bacon," he offered, refusing to meet either persons look at his odd comment. "What?" he asked a little self-consciously.

Mark watched Roger squirm, looking between him and Kat. _He's scared of her_. The realization came and Mark heard himself asking, "Rog, you want to go make some cereal for Kat?"

Roger nodded gratefully, sliding out of the chair and heading towards the kitchen a little too quickly.

Mark turned in his seat, putting a hand on Kat's arm, "You alright Katharine?" he asked softly and Kat winced, nodding. He debated whether or not to call her out on the lie immediately, but decided to give her a couple more days. Maybe she would open up on her own. Roger had said she started talking, but no doubt he stopped that before it got anywhere substantial.

Maybe that was why Katharine was watching Roger so intently now- to see why he was so reluctant to listen to what she had to say. Most people would lend an ear, if only to be polite. Mark could see Roger fleeing the second their conversation- if you could call it that- took an emotional turn. It must have been hard for her to start saying something personal only to be shot down.

"You want to talk about it?" Mark asked, just to be sure and as he predicted, Kat shook her head. A familiar, if a little uncomfortable, silence fell between them and they listened to Roger bang around in the kitchen excessively. Just as Mark was about to go see what warranted the unnecessary noise, Roger walked towards them, placing a bowl and spoon in front of Kat.

"Hope you like Captain Crunch," he mumbled, standing awkwardly above them.

Kat looked up at him for a second before lowering her head, "Thank you," she said softly, delicately picking up the spoon and dipping it into the bowl.

Mark leaned back and gestured for Roger to sit down. Roger shook his head, his eyes widening and Mark cocked his head. Roger shrugged with a helpless look and wandered over to the couch, picking up his guitar along the way.

Settling down, he started strumming it and Mark noticed Kat pause mid-chew.

"Something wrong?" he asked and Kat shook her head, continuing her meal with a blush. "You should be lucky Roger isn't playing Musetta's Waltz," he tried to joke but Kat only gave him a blank look before finishing off the cereal. For a second she sat there, looking at the back of Rogers head on the couch,

"Can I go to my room please?" she asked and the despair in her voice was enough to moisten Mark's eyes. He nodded, feeling like a failure because she still felt the need to ask permission. He took the empty bowl and spoon over to the sink while Kat disappeared behind her door. It took a couple minutes for him to wash the breakfast dishes, and by the time he was finished Roger was picking out the notes for his infamous song, completely immersed in the music.

"What was that about?" Mark demanded and Roger jumped as the voice came from behind him. He hadn't heard Mark move at all and was a little weary that he'd been so oblivious to not notice Kat had left the room.

Roger stopped the movement of his fingers, the last note ringing out clearly. "What?"

"What's the matter with you? You just suddenly got all jittery," Mark pointed out and Roger glared at him as the other man sat down,

"I did not all of a sudden get jittery," he growled, focusing on his guitar instead of Mark. He refused to let himself think that Kat was affecting him so. Mark seemed to read his mind,

"Roger, I need to help her through this," he reminded softly and Roger glared at him,

"What is that supposed to mean?"

Mark sighed, leaning back against the couch and taking off his glasses to rub his eyes. It was the first time that Roger noticed Mark looked older- less mugger-material and more mature. Less the giddy eager blonde filmmaker he'd come to the City as and more of a patient, understanding caretaker. More of how he remembered Mark being during his withdrawal, solemn and serious. Less… bohemian.

"Mark…" Roger started, wanting to point out the change but Mark didn't hear him, or didn't care,

"It means that I think you find that Kat reminds you of yourself. How… you were when April died."

Roger bristled at the name, launching himself off the couch, clutching the neck of his guitar angrily: partly because somewhere deep down he knew it was the truth and partly because Mark thought figured out what was bothering him about the girl. "So, what's it to you?" he demanded, putting the guitar down and picking up his coat.

Mark watched his movements, saying carefully, gently, in that caring Mark way he said stuff, "I know you don't want to go back to the place you were then, and you should know that you don't have to. You went through that once already Roger. You don't need to go through it again."

Grunting, Roger stalked towards the loft door, opening it with more force than was really necessary. To let Mark know he wasn't angry with Mark, but with himself, he grumbled, "Mimi's," when Mark inquired where he was going.

Mark watched Rogers retreating back, heard the loud knock on Mimi's door, and waited until the loft door below had opened and closed before getting up to close his own. He couldn't help but think that it would be a miracle if they all made it through this.

8:01 am.

**A/N: I meant no offense by the Gypsie comment that Katharine made in the beginning. She's young. **

**Sorry about the long wait for this chapter- I sent it to my beta (yay! Thanks Katie ;)) but I wanted to post this up, so if you notice anything odd or whatnot, just give me a shout. **

**Hopefully y'all liked it more than last chapter. Reviews would be appreciated, as always, and thanks for reviewing the last chapter, you-know-who-you-are-and-so-do-I!**


	8. January 10th 9:14 am EST

Mark and Joanne

**January 10****th**** 9:14 am EST**

Joanne was already at the office when Mark got there, and he was oddly grateful for it. She stood up when the nice lady at the front desk led him into the room, hugging him tightly as the door closed. He returned the embrace after a moment, still mulling over the events of the morning. Only three hours in and already he was ready for the day to end.

"How you holding up, Mark?" Joanne asked kindly, pity and sorrow in her eyes.

Mark looked away, knowing that out of the group, Joanne was the one who shared his silent understanding of what this meant. Maureen probably wouldn't quite grasp the content matter until Collins spelled it out for her, and Roger and Mimi would be flying too high on either a cloud of delusional love or withdrawal for the admission to bring them down.

But Joanne understood. Joanne got that soon, their own losses would mirror that of Kat's. That eventually, inevitably, they'd lose three more members of their small bohemian family.

"Mark?" Joanne asked and Mark sat down, forcing himself to ignore his own thoughts.

Instead he asked, "How's Maureen doing?"

"She was sick in the bathroom this morning when you called; that's why I couldn't talk for very long- stomach flu. Mark, are you sure that-" Before she could even finish her sentence, the door opened and a pleasant-looking middle aged man walked in,

"Thank you for meeting with us on such short notice Mr. Cohen. I'm Kevin Froban and I'm representing your sister's legal firm. May I just say how sorry I am to hear about your loss and extend condolences on my and the firms behalf?"

Mark stood up. Nodded his head. Shook the mans hand. Sat back down.

"And you are…?"

Joanne tore her eyes away from Mark's odd behavior and held out her hand, "Joanne Jefferson, from Gage Whitney. Mark's attorney," she introduced crisply. Mark had called her house in a panic a little after eight, which led her to believe that he didn't know about Roger's phone call the other day.

"If you'll sit down," the man across from them offered and Joanne glanced again at Mark before taking a seat. "Would you like anything to drink?" he asked and Joanne declined while Mark stuttered out,

"Water?"

"Sure," the man smiled pleasantly, "Katie, two waters please," he requested and his secretary nodded, leaving the room. He indicated the tape recorder on the desk, "Would you mind if we recorded this session?"

"Not at all," Joanne said, familiar with the tendencies as Mark nodded his head. He had also expressed his concerns about the meeting during his phone call- mainly, the reason behind it. Froban clicked the recording machine on,

"This is Kevin Froban from Jacobs and Sons, representing the deceased Mr. and Mrs. Clarkson. Would you please introduce yourselves?"

"Uh, Mark Cohen,"

"Joanne Jefferson from Gage Whitney; Mr. Cohen's attorney. We're representing Mr. and Mrs. Clarkson's daughter, Katharine Clarkson today." Froban nodded, opening a file in front of him.

"Could I ask why we're meeting today?" Joanne inquired, crossing her legs and leaning slightly forward.

Froban smiled tightly, "Mr. Cohen's attorney?" he asked and Joanne nodded, consciously trying not to glare. "Well, there are a couple issues dealing with-"

"I'm sorry," Mark interrupted and both of them looked to him. "But, well, I thought we dealt with all of this back…" he searched for a word, gesturing to the papers, "There. Is this really necessary?"

"Yes, I do believe it is. First off, there is the, erm, financial matters of the estate and family possessions. Then-"

"We've already gone through the belongings," Mark interrupted. Joanne noted that Froban didn't look too happy about his constant interjection and made a note to try and somehow get Mark to stop it. "My parent's have taken what they want and arranged to send Kat and me the things we've requested to keep. What else is there?"

"Well, are you going to be maintaining the property or leasing it or selling it on the open market? And what of the furniture inside the house, the other assets in the family name? As the chief executioner of the last will and testament of Mr. and Mrs. Clarkson, you have a legal responsibility to decide on these matters."

Mark shrugged, "Sell it."

Joanne glanced at Mark in surprised, but kept her mouth shut. "Sell it?" the other lawyer asked, voicing her own question.

"Kat said to sell it all; she doesn't want anything, I don't want anything, my parents don't want anything. Keith's family doesn't want anything. Sell it and save the money for Kat to, I don't know, go to college or something," he finished bluntly.

"Are you sure that's the course of action you want to take on that particular matter?" the lawyer asked, caution in his voice. "Once you sell the estate it'll be very difficult to get it back."

"We won't be going back," Mark said firmly. Froban looked over at Joanne, who smiled and nodded,

"We're sure."

"And you understand that Jacobs and Sons will not be liable for any repercussions of this action that you receive later on?"

"We'll read and sign the fine print," Joanne reassured and the door opened. Froban's secretary returned with two bottled waters and glass glasses, placing one by Mark and one by Froban. Mark quickly uncapped his and guzzled it from the bottle while Froban took the time to pour it into his glass before drinking.

"So the matter of estate and unspecified assets as well as assets inherited by Katharine from the will has been settled?"

Joanne nodded, "Yes."

"Where would you like the papers sent?"

"My office," Joanne said before Mark could answer. She would want to read through them before giving them over to Mark to sign anyways.

"Now the next thing we need to discuss is some concerns that Mr. and Mrs. Cohen expressed about your motivations for taking guardianship of the Clarkson's daughter."

"What?" Mark looked up sharply and Joanne knew instantly that Froban had misspoken.

"As executor of the will, and the representative and guardian of Kat, selling all the possessions is something you have the legal authority to do. Now, there was a small clause tacked onto the will that was recently noticed that calls for a small monetary allowance to be made for him or her who cares for Kat."

"Which means what, exactly?" Mark said, looking over to Joanne.

"Could you please be more to the point?" she asked and Froban nodded looking a little concerned,

"I can try. With the selling of the house and all the assets, there will be a substantial addition to the money available for this allowance, which hasn't yet been set but also hasn't been capped. Mr. and Mrs. Cohen expressed concerns were that you would… take advantage of the lack of a capped amount."

Mark narrowed his eyes, "You don't honestly think that I'm agreeing to take guardianship of Kat because I want her money, do you?" he asked coldly.

"Mr. Cohen, while I don't necessarily represent Mr. and Mrs. Cohen, I have an obligation to them to do what I can to mollify them. My primary loyalty, however, lies with the deceased and under the circumstances-"

"What circumstances?" Mark demanded, "That my parents are f-"

Joanne stepped in before he could get too carried away, placing a restraining hand on his arm, "What he means to say," she smiled, "Is that it seems a little uncouth that the finances are being brought up along with the custody case by Mr. and Mrs. Cohen, not to mention a little insensitive. The Clarkson's already made a decision on the matter, and me and my clients would like that decision to be respected."

Froban was looking down at the papers sheepishly, "I understand and I'm sorry to be bringing this up, but from what I understand about Mr. Cohen's current living situation-"

"Who cares about my living situation?" Mark exploded and Joanne sent him a look that said, 'cool it or we're screwed'. He continued a little gentler, "I love that girl more than my parents ever could, and I'm not going to give her up. My sister chose me as her daughter's guardian for a reason, knowing full well my 'current living situation'. I'm not doing it for the money, as flattering as that opinion is of my personality."

"Mr. Cohen," Froban tried, coming very close to a whine. He looked distraught, "I'm on your side and quite frankly, I don't understand how this has gotten so out of hand. May I please go back and try to rephrase the issue?"

Joanne looked at Mark who grudgingly nodded. "Yes."

Froban took a second to compose his thoughts, and then started to speak, slower and clearer, "How this works is that every month until Kat's 18th birthday, a certain amount of money from the family account will be made available to you. The standard amount in these cases is usually around one thousand dollars, although without the cap you have no limit. Therefore, if you so wished, you could make the entire fortune accessible to you. Once the cap is locked in it is unchangeable until the entire fortune is released to Kat on her 18th birthday."

"I didn't know that," Mark said softly, his hostile demeanor fading.

"Determining this amount was the main focus of this meeting, and you've expressed a desire for all family assets to be sold and placed into the bank account. I think that this desire brought about Mr. and Mrs. Cohen's concerns that you would try to perhaps inflate the allowance amount as much as you could, bringing about the issue of…"

"Whether or not I wanted Kat for the money," Mark finished in a disembodied voice. He shook his head in disbelief, "Wow."

Joanne sent a concerned look to Froban before turning to Mark, "Are you okay?"

Mark laughed coldly, "I can't believe them. Some great parent's I've got. Fuck, I bet he did this," he muttered darkly and Joanne glanced at Froban, who had already turned the recorder off,

"Can we have a minute please?" she asked and Froban nodded, looking slightly worried and a little guilty,

"Of course. I'll be back in five minutes. If you'll excuse me…" he closed the door behind him and disappeared through the halls.

Joanne addressed Mark sympathetically, "I don't want to sound cold honey," she warned, "But you need to compose yourself."

"My parents are accusing me of basically being bought to take care of Kat! How the _hell_ am I suppose to compose myself Joanne," he hissed, "If my sister wanted to give me money, she would've given me money!"

"We don't know the circumstances, Mark. We don't know if the omittance of a cap was a mistake or done on purpose." Mark was still seething and Joanne didn't know how to get through to him. "Mark, I think this guy just really wants Kat to be in the best place possible. If he had reason to believe that there was something even the smallest bit suspicious about your motivations, wouldn't you rather he make sure everything was okay than not care? Just try to watch what you say around him. Getting snappy and angry isn't going to help sway his opinion, and his is the one we need."

"He has that opinion because he called this meeting with a preconceived notion! Because of my parents! What the hell are they playing at anyways?" Mark demanded, looking around the room. Joanne didn't know if he was looking for a phone or to see if they were hiding somewhere in the room.

"Let's just deal with this first," she suggested, "And then worry about your parents."

Mark struggled for a moment but eventually caved, "Fine."

Joanne nodded. She glanced at the door to make sure that Froban wasn't waiting and moved on to the next topic, "Mark, we need to decide how much you want to lock in."

"No," he said immediately, becoming defensive, "Nothing. I don't want the money."

"You know you're going to need it, don't you?" she asked patiently. If she could handle Maureen, she could sure as hell handle Mark.

Mark shrugged, "I'll get a job or something then. Go… back to Buzzline."

"You hated it there," Joanne pointed out.

"Roger can get a job, get off his ass and actually do something," Mark continued, ignoring her.

Joanne sighed, "Don't you think that Roger's a little anti-social for that at the moment? How often has he let Mimi out of his sight since Christmas?"

"Roger's not anti-social, he's just anti-work," Mark grumbled. Joanne did have a point though. And if Mimi was using again like Roger suspected… "I'm sorry, I didn't mean that," he said guilty. He closed his eyes and leaned back in his seat, his fingers bouncing on his knee, "Sorry I dragged you into this Jo."

"Don't apologize for that," Joanne said sternly. She glanced at the door again, "We still need to pick an amount before he comes back," she reminded.

"A thousand sounds reasonable, doesn't it?" Mark asked, staring at the nervous energy of his leg.

"Mark,"

Mark shook his head stubbornly, "I'm not going to go around wasting money that's not mine Joanne. A thousand will be more than enough."

"Are you sure?" Joanne asked doubtfully, "Jacking the price up half a grand won't change anyone's view of you."

"No, a thousand's fine," Mark said firmly. He was turning off and Joanne knew she wouldn't be able to change his mind.

The door opened and Froban came back in. "Ready?" he asked, hovering by the door. Joanne nodded and he sat down across from the desk, turning on the recording machine.

Joanne dove right into business after noticing Mark's exhaustion. The faster they could get out of here, the better. "We've decided that the standard amount would be more than enough."

"Great." He wrote something down on the paper. "Now, Mr. and Mrs. Cohen also requested that a social worker come into your apartment-"

Mark snapped, "You've got to be _kidding_ me!"

"-apartment," Froban continued calmly, "To asses your living situation."

"No." The statement was so blunt Joanne was surprised at the tone,

"Mark-"

"I'm going to disregard that note," Froban said, ignoring both Mark and Joanne completely, "And do this for you. Because Mr. and Mrs. Cohen are interesting in Kat's well-being, are you willing to propose a compromise?"

"Meaning what exactly?" Mark asked cautiously.

"Report cards from school sent to the Cohen residence when the regular ones are released, as well as a personal report from a reliable, professional source."

Mark digested the words, "So like… a shrink?"

"Mark," Joanne admonished. "A therapist?" she reworded the question, hoping the disgust in Mark's voice would be overlooked.

Froban nodded, "An appointment, once a week. Every month, there would be a progress report sent out to pacify Mr. and Mrs. Cohen. Along with acceptable school progress reports- I think that should be more than enough proof of the stable environment you can provide Kat, don't you?"

Mark still looked less than sold, "I don't know if she'll go for a shrink…"

"It sounds like a reasonable deal," Joanne reworded once again.

Froban nodded and stood up, rearranging files and scribbling things down, "Perfect. I'll pass these changes along to Mr. and Mrs. Cohen as well as update them on our compromise. If you stop by my secretary's office, she should be able to help you with setting up the first appointment for Kat."

Joanne stood up as well, "Is that everything?" she asked, tugging Mark up from his seat.

"Yes. Unless…" he stopped fidgeting uncharacteristically for a moment, "Would you like to handle the selling of-"

"No," Mark interrupted before he could finish the sentence, "If it's not a hassle for you that is."

Froban smiled, "Not at all."

"Great," Joanne smiled between the two. "Thank you for your help," she shook Froban's hand.

"You're welcome," Froban smiled. Mark shook his hand as well and even managed a smile. "Feel free to call me if you have any concerns- especially if you have any concerns," he corrected. "And again, I'm really, truly sorry for your loss and this mix up."

This time he looked like he really meant it and Mark nodded. "Thank you."

**A/N: Not all that exciting, but necessary. Yes, I am B.S.ing the majority of this. I'm not a lawyer, I'm a techie. The next chapter should be up pretty soon. Also, I think I may have screwed myself with the date/time chapter title thing. So if there's one in the future that doesn't have it, remember- Mark didn't introduce every scene in the movie, did he? Or the show for that matter, haha.  
**

**Thanks to the two that reviewed! I love getting reviews! Please review, they make me happy. Suggestions, comments, concerns are always appreciated and welcome! **


	9. January 10th 9:57 am EST

Mimi's Loft

**January 10****th**** 9:57 am EST**

Roger was sitting on top of the table when she got home, bringing an immediate and abrupt end to her already fading high.

"Where were you?" he asked softly, looking down at the hands in his lap and refusing to meet her eyes.

Mimi could hear it- the disappointment in his voice, the pain and frustration. The love and care and worry. It was almost too much for her to try and lie to.

And it didn't help that she didn't have a descent excuse and her mind was too fucked up at the moment to be able to conceive one.

"Mimi," Roger asked again after a couple seconds of silence, still looking down. If he looked up now and saw her eyes, he would know. If he saw those beautiful eyes he would be able to tell if she was or had been high. He'd be jealous and he'd storm out. She was cheating on him, but not with any guy he knew. Not with any guy.

He also knew he was too much of a coward after what had happened to take that chance that she might not be- the fear kept his gaze firmly planted on his lap and below that, his crossed ankles beneath the table. He tried to keep it there for as long as he could- tried to maintain that his gut feeling was just that. Just a feeling and not really reality, where his baby was addicted to drugs. But he had to know. "Where were you?"

_Getting high in the alleyway because I didn't want you to walk in on me._

How long had he been waiting there? Had he been sitting on the table for hours upon end, or did he just walk through the door?

"I- I just stepped out for a minute," she stumbled through, praying that he didn't know she hadn't been home all night. It was bound to happen and Mimi was a little surprised that it hadn't happened earlier.

Roger finally looked up at her, his eyes hard, "Bullshit. I've been here since seven."

_Crap_. "So a minute turned into longer- why the hell have you been here since seven?" she demanded indignantly.

"Why the hell _haven't_ you been here since seven?" Roger countered and Mimi scrambled to find an excuse.

"I went out to the store," she blurted, turning around and storming into her room. Not the best course of action, but one of the few available to her. _You could always tell the truth- it's not like he doesn't know it already_, a voice sneered in her head. She ignored it, sitting down on the bed and pulling off her shoes, trying not to think of the obvious problems of her excuse. Not the least of which Roger pointed out a second later from the other room,

"You don't have any bags with you."

"That's because I didn't have money," Mimi snapped at the wall.

Roger narrowed his eyes even though he knew she couldn't see, "And it took you three hours to notice that and come home?"

"No," Mimi said patiently, "It took me three hours to…"

"To what?" Roger prompted, not kindly.

_To realize where home was._ "Why the hell are you here Roger?" Misdirected anger- Mimi was a pro at it.

"What, I can't come by to see my own girlfriend?" Roger exploded, jumping off the table and shoving the beads of her rooms door angrily.

Mimi turned away from him and crawled further onto her bed, "If your girlfriend wants to see you," she muttered.

Roger heard it- Mimi knew he did. She was just loud enough for him to make out every word and spell out the subtext for himself. They'd reached the point where their fights always ended- Roger would probably reply with something in kind, stomp out of the loft, get his guitar and retreat to the rooftop for upwards of an hour. Then one of them, probably her this time, would cool down enough to coax the other out of their sulk. Depending on how well that would go, they'd either stay on the roof or manage to make it to one of their rooms, where they would have amazing make up sex.

So when the mattress decompressed beside her, Mimi was thoroughly surprised.

"Mimi," Roger whispered, his voice rougher in his desire to speak softly. "You're shivering." _I'm sorry._

"I'm fine," Mimi answered grudgingly; still not ready to accept his silent apology. He shouldn't have been the one apologizing in the first place.

Roger's hand was on her back. "Come here?" he pleaded and Mimi stubbornly refused to turn to him,

"No."

There was a sigh and some shuffling- Mimi closed her eyes, braced for the slamming of doors that was sure to come. "Mimi, it's cold in here. At least take my jacket," he urged and Mimi finally gave in and turned around.

Roger smiled- this was progress. Her eyes were still cold, but they were thawing slowly. They looked at one another for a long moment, Roger silently asking permission to come closer.

"You need it just as much as I do," Mimi said, answering Roger's question: _Don't leave me alone. _Roger scooted closer, now fully on the bed.

"You almost died on Christmas Mimi," he reminded gently, the ancient leather jacket still hanging limply in his hand.

Mimi came close to growling. "Why the fuck do you need to bring that up?" she demanded, wondering if he was being spiteful or just being oblivious Roger.

Roger shrugged, the innocent look on his face bringing Mimi to think he was the latter. "To make you take my coat. You're still a little sick. Please Mimi?"

Mimi relented, "Fine,"

"Thank you," Roger smiled, draping the coat over her body. She curled into it and Roger's hand lingered on the collar by her face. He touched her face gently, running his thumb underneath her cheeks. Slowly tilting her face forward, he leant down and placed a soft kiss on her lips. "I love you Mimi," he whispered against them. Then he pulled away slightly, so he could look into her eyes. Into her constricted pupils. Into the cloudily, groggy brown. The eyes he just couldn't stop thinking about. Was she even entirely there at the moment? He pushed down the anger he felt swelling in his chest. "I'm just worried."

"About what?" Mimi purred. _Please don't tell me._

Roger lowered himself on the mattress beside her, wrapping his arm around her and pulling her in close, "Mimi…" he tightened his grip, "I don't want to lose you."

Mimi stiffened. "Roger," she started bluntly, "We have-"

He knew where it was going so he overrode her statement, "I came so close to losing you Meems… I don't want that to happen again. I don't ever want to let you go," he murmured into her ear and she turned to him, burying her face in the crook of his neck.

"I don't want you to let me go," he could just hear and he pulled her onto him, cradling her like a baby, knowing his fear was real and that if something towards the better didn't happen soon, it wouldn't just be a fear.

He'd seen something in Mark's niece that he'd forgotten, and he knew that losing Mimi would bring it back into his life. He didn't want that- it scared him. He wouldn't admit it, but it scared the crap out of him. He wouldn't let Mimi go, he could never let another person go like he had April. April had been a lost cause long before she'd killed herself and Roger didn't want that to happen to Mimi. Didn't want that to happen to himself or to their family.

He could feel Mimi wanting to say something else so he said, "Please don't say anything. Just, please let us be happy. Let me think that we'll be happy together, forever. Let me forget about everything else and just- just be with you. Please Mimi?" he pleaded.

What he wouldn't do to keep them together. To keep them safe and alive and happy. Because the past year had been the happiest he'd been since the empty caricature withdrawal had made him into; since before April had died and the highs and lows of heroin addictions took hold of his life. Since before knowing that any day might be his last. Since before he'd seen that look on Kat's face and was reminded what was at stake.

"Forget regret," Mimi whispered under his chin. What he wouldn't give for Mimi and him to be healthy and happy, a normal couple.

"Exactly," Roger muttered, nodding slightly. He knew what he had to do, even if it crossed over to what they stubbornly refused to acknowledge this time around. "Exactly Mimi. Let me be there for you Meems. Let me… help you through it. You won't have to do it alone."

"I can't," Mimi answered blankly, knowing precisely what Roger was talking about, but surprised that it was being discussed in a conversation and not a fight. Not like before. This was new.

"But you can," Roger encouraged, leaving Mimi to try and figure out exactly where the conversation had started delving into the tabooed topic of drugs. "You can do this Mimi," Roger was saying, "I'll be there more often- it wouldn't be like the last time. I swear I won't let you out of my sight until you get better. Until the urges die down. I won't lose my temper or, or give up."

_I'll devote my whole life to you and keeping you clean_, he was saying silently and Mimi felt her self tearing up at the prospect. She would ruin his life, she knew it. She'd tired before but it had failed. Worse- what if he couldn't stand her any more and started using again? What if… he left her again?

"Roger- I… I can't do that to you." Roger had his own life. He didn't need to feel responsible over hers. If he didn't feel responsible he would stick around. As much as it sickened her to be so dependent, she knew if he left her again she wouldn't come back this time, with or without Angel's help.

"I want to do it though. Anything that'll give us more time together- anything to make you healthier I want to do," he whispered, running his hands up and down her arms. Mimi was shivering and she didn't even notice.

_Don't do this for me. I'm not worth it._ "You can't be watching me your entire life," Mimi pointed out, trying to get him to back out of his promises.

"I don't have a life without you Mimi. I learned that much in Santa Fe."

"What about Mark?" It was a cheap shot, but Roger seemed to have an answer for everything,

"Mark loves you Mimi, and he knows that I love you. He understands love better than I do. Hell, he's still in love with Maureen half the time. He'll understand."

"What if…" she was running out of excuses and this was her last shot. "What if I don't want to?" she asked quietly.

Roger pushed her away, inexplicably angry, "How can you not want to?!"

Mimi winced. The conversation was ending, and now it was becoming a fight.

Like it always did.

"I just… I don't think I can," she admitted and Roger launched himself off the bed,

"You can't or you won't?" he demanded heatedly.

Mimi bit back her tears, "I tried once already Roger, don't you remember? I didn't work!" _I'm destined to die a smack addict_.

Roger was leaning against the bed, looking at her with smoldering eyes, "That's because you didn't want it bad enough," he said slowly. "It's because…" he sat down, half on the bed, half off, "I gave up on you. Look, you've gotten a second chance. You can do things differently now, and I'm sure as hell not going to make the same mistakes twice." _I'm not going to let you kill yourself. _

Mimi looked away. _Just leave it alone. _"They're not your mistakes to make Roger."

_I can't. _"Mimi, I care about you too much for them not to be. Just, let me help you through this. This time will be different, I promise. This time it'll actually work. You don't need it Mimi, you don't. I know that you don't."

Mimi was crying now, "I'm not like you Roger. I'm not good like you are." So many things, so many mistakes…

Roger actually laughed, though it was hollow, "I'm not good. I'm the furthest thing from good. You know how many bad things I've done?" He was serious again, "One of the worst was giving up on you and leaving Mimi. I'm not going to do that again."

"I'm not as strong as you are!" Mimi maintained and Roger had to stand up,

"Mimi, don't you get that you almost died? Fuck, you _did_ die Mimi." Mimi was crying even harder now and Roger didn't understand why he kept making her cry. He hated it when she cried. He toned it down a little, "Baby, you came back- how can you not be strong to do that? You can control it Meems, it doesn't have to control you."

"That wasn't me though," _Angel. It was Angel. _Mimi cried harder at the memory of her friend, who always seemed to know the right thing to do. Roger stared helplessly at her shaking form, unable to understand what emotional dams he'd broken.

"You're not going to be going through this alone Mimi. I'll help you. Mark will help you. Collins will help you. Joanne and Maureen- we'll all be there to help you…" he sat down on the bed pulled Mimi into his chest, "You're not going to go through this alone."

Mimi was scared. She wasn't strong; she didn't want failure- she didn't want to go through withdrawal only to crack under the pressure again. "How can you be so sure that it's going to work this time?" she whispered, almost scared to ask the question. If she knew she'd be more inclined to screw it up- that was what always happened. It was just the way things went.

Roger, unsurprisingly, had an answer for this as well, "Because I'm not going to leave you no matter what. If you want it bad enough, if you're not just playing around with me, it doesn't matter how many times you screw up. As long as you're trying, I'll try, and we can make it work this time."

"Roger..." _I can't._

"I… I can't." Roger pushed her away but stopped himself before he reached the end of the bed. "Don't be mad, or disappointed," Mimi pleaded, trying to reach for him. "I just can't do it!"

"Fuck that," he growled, not moving away from her touch but not responding to it either, "You can do whatever you want to do." Then he asked quietly, "Do you need to go to rehab?"

Mimi froze. "I'm not going to rehab."

"If that's what you need, I'm sure we can figure out some way to pay for-"

It wasn't the cost that Mimi was worried about. "Roger, I'm not going back to rehab and get that idea out of your head. I tried that once too, remember?" she asked, moving away from him and pushing herself against the headboard, folding her arms across her chest.

Roger felt the movement and turned towards her slightly, "I'm not going to give up on this Mimi," he warned. "I ran away once but I'm not going to do it again. I… figured out what I wanted in Santa Fe, and I want you Mimi. And you almost died from-"

"I almost died because I'm sick!" Mimi all but yelled. Roger stood up angrily,

"Almost died because you stopped taking your meds. Because you started living on the streets. Because you dropped out of rehab and started using again. I'm sick too Meems, but I'm clean and I'm still here!"

After the loud outburst there was a stunned silence. Then, quietly, Mimi whispered,

"I'm still here, too."

It was like something broke between them and Roger's entire body sagged, "Oh baby, I know you are." He crawled back onto the bed and took her in his arms, "Fuck, I just don't want to lose you," he whispered into her ear, holding her tightly. Trying to get as close to her as possible.

"I know," she sniffled, nuzzling into his body,

"I won't be able to stand it,"

"I know. I'm sorry." _I'm so sorry._

She felt Roger shake his head, "Don't be sorry. Just… stop."

Frustration threatened to build up and her muscles clenched. "It's not that easy."

"Withdrawal might be a bitch Mimi," Roger said, "But you'll make it through. And I'll be there for you afterwards- I'll watch over you and remind you and hold you through all the urges and the shakes and the nausea and the pain. If you promise you're going to try, I promise I won't ever leave. I don't want to be around this stuff any more Mimi. It ruined me and it almost killed you. Do we really need to sacrifice more than that for it? You're better than that Mimi, I know you are…"

Roger could go on talking like this for hours, Mimi knew. He'd done it before, during her first withdrawal, and as much as it helped then, now it felt more like pressure than comfort. Mimi knew that Mark and Collins had to force Roger into his withdrawal, that his girlfriend had killed herself and that was what sparked his desire to see it through.

Yes, Mimi had almost died. But she needed to do this on her own terms, come to the conclusion Roger was whispering to her with her own dice. And Roger didn't understand that.

"Roger," she interrupted his well-meaning rant. He quieted and was instantly attentive. "Can we just… forget about this for now? I'll… think about it, alright?" _I wish I could promise more, but I can't, I'm sorry. _

"I'm not going to give up Mimi. You're better than this."

Mimi nodded and silenced him with a hungry kiss. For a second he was surprised, but if there was one guy you could distract from anything with the reward of foreplay, it was Roger. They lowered themselves into a lying position and Roger propped himself up with his elbows, pulling away for a second to look at her face.

"Are you sure you're ready for this Mimi? We don't have to. You're still a little weak from-"

_No, don't bring that up again. _"Let's just do this Roger, please?" _Forget about it just for an hour. Forget about everything; let it be just you and me together. _"Please? I… I need you," she admitted and he nodded. He knew how she felt, what she wanted to say but couldn't, and looked into her eyes steadily for a full minute.

Passion, trust, honestly, desire, fear, regret, empathy, contempt; so much more and yet… it was a look of love, one that only Roger could maintain for such a long period of time. Mimi let go of her insecurities after the first couple of seconds, letting herself get lost in it, letting herself fall under the scrutiny his gaze, surrendering and opening herself up completely for him.

"I need you too baby," he said finally, before lowering himself down and kissing her.

Then all thought was lost as he became lost in Mimi.

- - - - -

_I… I love you_, Mimi had said silently, wishing she could say it out loud but knowing it would only lead to more tears and fighting. Somewhere she knew that her love for Roger was stronger than her love for smack but it was in a place that she couldn't bring herself to discover quite yet.

- - - - -

_I love you too baby_, Roger had said silently, somehow understanding that; understanding her need to just… let it be.

- - - - -

**A/N: I'd just like to credit the West Side Story for a line in the last chapter. Props to whoever can figure it out, haha. And as always, I'm incredibly insecure about how my Mimi/Roger story style comes off, so hopefully I didn't screw it up. ****It took me a while and I'm pretty sure this is one of the few chapters that went through a couple of drafts. Usually it's just write and reread for me, lol.  
**

**Oh, and I'm trying to make it as period-appropriate as possible. January 10****th**** in 1991 was a Thursday and a galleon of milk cost about 2.75 if I remember correctly. Anyways, that should give you some sense of money equivalence.**

**  
So please review and let me know what you thought. O.o**


	10. January 10th 11:32 am EST

The Loft – Collins

**January 10****th**** 11:32 am EST**

Kitty came out of the room a little hesitantly, wincing when the rusting rings squealed their protest. Hell if she wanted them open either, but nature called and she was surprised she'd held out for so long. There was a small bag of necessities in her hand; she was feeling the full effects of not brushing her teeth for more than 24 hours and she didn't want to make it any longer. Tentatively taking a step into the loft she winced as one of the floorboards creaked under her foot. Creaking was unfamiliar to her and everything in this place seemed to make a sound of some sort.

Shifting around in bed made the springs squeal in protest; someone turning the on the tap in the kitchen produced a stuttered bang that vibrated all along the floor for a couple seconds before fading; a monstrous explosion from the vacuum of the toilet, the rustic grind of a window being open, people banging on the walls and up and down stairs, yelling and screaming, singing; the muddled words of low conversations and the clear articulation of louder ones- something in the building was always moving, something was always happening.

The building took on a life of its own that was shaped from sounds and by the people who lived in it, just the same way that people were shaped by whom they associated with. But the sounds of the sketchy apartment building were too distant and impersonal for Kat to latch onto, too removed from her life to prove that she had one. The harrowed ache for an identity without the familiarity of her old life was beginning to show its presence in her chest. She had been cultured into the person she had been because of her environment, the people who surrounded her and influenced her on a daily basis.

Now who was she?

Now that they were gone, now that those people who defined her were gone, who was she? What happened now that those who had surrounded her were no longer surrounding her? Would she change? Was she changing? Had she already changed?

The building had taken on a persona, creaking and groaning under the pressures of housing starving artists, and Kat wondered where she fit into its genetic makeup. What did her addition to the building change, if anything at all? And to what extent was the building reflected by its inhabitants? What made this building different than a Park Avenue complex, other than tenants and the complete lack of diligent maintenance?

Well, the location for one. But didn't its location only support the fact that the building's stature was affected negatively by its inhabitants? The only thing that stopped the East Village from being Upstate was the population.

"Starving artists," her Mom had said on her uncles lifestyle, "Mark discovered bohemia and they discovered that they couldn't restrain their precious baby from the world any longer." 'They' referred to her Grandparents and her Mom was smiling almost wistfully, "My baby brother's out there doing what he loves and to hell with the rest of us."

Despite the life of the building, the lack of activity in the loft made her uneasy, jittery almost, and the memory of her mother made her eyes burn. This type of loft quiet made her reminisce and reflect; two things which she wanted to steer clear of. It was because of this train of thought that she took another step- another step, another creak, another wince and another distraction.

Then a deep voice rumbled through the loft lazily, "See the black marks on the ground?"

It didn't startle her- she was still too detached at that point to be startled, but she was curious where the voice was coming from. Scanning the loft more carefully picked up on something she'd initially missed. A man with dark skin and a beanie hat, smoking what looked to be a joint while holding a newspaper and leaning back in the cushions of the farthest chair.

Pushing all thoughts of change out of her mind Kat eyed him wearily; she was aware of the fact he hadn't looked up at her. "Who are you?" she asked in a soft, faux voice that she somehow managed to give an undertone of suspicion. Another quick scan showed that her uncle was no where to be seen and the only clear memories she had from the plane ride onward confirmed her uncle had failed to mention anyone other than Roger and one Mimi, who would obviously be a girl.

The man continued, clearly not to be bothered into answering her question, "Roger put them there so that he would know where to step when he was trying to sneak out. To not make any noise. Your Uncle Mark was a pretty light sleeper back in those days…"

Somewhere deep down she knew that his lack of interest of her should have prompted her emotion. Apparently her presence in the building did not account for much, which in turn should have accounted for at least a depressing thought or two, perhaps a frown or a twinge of sadness. But all she could bring herself to feel was loneliness, which was already present in excess. This man's dismissal of her presence and input had nothing on the absence of- _No._

Not there, don't go there, she warned herself, feeling her hostility towards the mysterious stranger rising. It was building, but not nearly enough to replace the aching in her chest. So instead, like a robot she asked, "Who the fuck are you?" The question was rougher, more forceful but… devoid of emotion.

She closed her eyes in an effort not to cry as her chest began to pulsate.

The man in the chair finally looked up from his paper and snubbed out his joint, but not with a frown or a scolding to tell her to watch her language. He smiled, "You sound like Roger the first time he met Mark."

Kat shrugged. Roger she had met that morning and she knew Mark. Mark was the reason that she was here. Mark was- _No. Don't _go _there._

"Do you know where my Uncle is?" she asked monotone and the man shook his head, the joint no longer visible,

"Mark? He said he would be back in two or three hours. And to try to get you to eat something if you woke up…" the man consulted his wrist. There was no watch on it. Kat watched him sigh, "About three hours ago."

Digesting the information took a lot longer than it should have, but instead of feeling relieved that comfort and what passed for familiarity would be back soon, the ache intensified. The only thing that registered was that Mark had left her. "Where'd he go?" she asked, for the first time letting some emotion leak into her words. It wasn't that hard when it felt like it was going to rip her apart any second.

The man got up, stretching with a moan of pleasure as he arched his back, "I don't know. Out somewhere. Why, you miss him or sumthing?"

Kat ignored him, trying to remember if Mark had said he was going anywhere. There was that meeting about… but no, he would already be back from that. Wouldn't he? How long did meetings like that take? Not more than a couple hours at a time, she remembered from sitting in the reception rooms of the few offices they'd been to back...

Never would she go in to the meetings herself- she just sat there and stared at the wall blankly. Not much use in a meeting that was bound to be traumatizing, and she trusted Mark. Hadn't known he was there for her, but knew that he would take care of things regardless.

The man was staring at her and she felt the bag in her hands beginning to slip from her grip, reminding her of her reason behind the excursion into the loft. Knowing he wasn't threatening and not really able to bring herself to exert the energy to start conversation, Kat's intent turned back to using the bathroom… until she realized that she had no idea where the bathroom was.

"Where you going kid?" the man asked after Kat had stopped with realization after taking a couple steps towards the kitchen. Kat shrugged, not too keen on needing his assistance but not really wanting to go searching for the stupid room,

"Do you know where the bathroom is?"

His dark eyes softened as he looked at her. Loneliness was inched aside just a smidgen when she saw more than just sympathy in them. "How long you been here kid?" he asked, his deep voice rich with whatever it was that was more.

"Since noon yesterday," she answered softly, more pain leaking into her voice. It was becoming broken again, less restrained. What had taken Mark almost a week to hear had taken this stranger minutes. What she had shown to Roger out of the haziness of sleep she was showing to this stranger in clarity of mind. Why?

She didn't have the energy to look away from him now and he smiled softly. It reached his eyes, which was where Kat saw it, which told Kat why her defenses were faltering. There was understanding in his eyes, understanding and empathy.

"Name's Collins," he said, offering her his hand, which she glanced at before accepting reluctantly. The contact was uncomfortable and she released it quickly. If Collins noticed, he betrayed nothing. After a pause it occurred to her that she might as well reciprocate,

"Kat, Mark's niece." No doubt he'd heard her story from Mark. Well, the condensed version in any case, which probably included…

Collins nodded, stopping the thought before it could fester, "Why don't you go use the bathroom and I'll make you some toast?" he suggested but Kat shook her head, grateful as she was for the words and sounds they were creating,

"I'm not hungry."

"Really," Collins asked, raising an eyebrow, "Well, how about I still make a light sandwich, just in case you get hungry later on? The boys eat pretty late around here and they'll probably pass on lunch when they get back."

Collins pointed her to the bathroom and Kat closed the door defeated, unable to stop thinking of Mark. Why Mark had left, when he would be back, would he be back- did he even _want_ to come back? How would her presence here alter _his_ life?

After using the toilet she uncapped the toothpaste, hoping that brushing her teeth would somehow ease her insecurities. It was a familiar ritual, but it was being done in a completely alien environment.

There were stains on the tiles beside the bathtub and Kat had a sneaking suspicion that the murky shower curtain had not been bought in that color. The mirror had dried spots of water across it and the soap on the edge of the sink was attached to the edge of the sink with a thin layer of moist stickiness. There was no toilet paper on the roll in the holder and the trash can contained everything from beer bottles to the edges of some burnt tin foil. The toilet looked like it hadn't been cleaned in years and the tiles below the drywall were beginning to deteriorate. The bathroom almost looked ready to collapse into itself and Kat winced when she turned on the taps again, hearing the rattling of pipes across the loft.

No, this was definitely not familiar and was doing absolutely nothing to ease her insecurities. Mark seemed like a good guy, but if he was struggling and living here, did he really need her added to his burdens? Was he doing the right thing or was he just… doing what he felt obligated to do?

Kat's throat constricted with the new line of thoughts- did Mark actually want her here in the first place? If he didn't, where would she go? And would he ask her to leave, or just resent her until she was stable enough to be on her own? Her heart started to beat and the ache returned, collapsing her lungs and forcing her stomach to climb up into her throat. Resisting the urge to throw up she quickly rinsed her mouth out and opened the door, desperate for something, anything, to distract her.

Collins turned around at the sound of the door, revealing the promised sandwich on a chipped plate. "I'm not sure what a cracker like you would like to eat, so this is the best you're getting. It doesn't help that there's next to nothing for me to work with, but yeah, that's what you get when you live with Mark and Roger."

"Thanks," Kat muttered, looking at the sandwich and longing for Mark to reassure her that her mind was being irrational. Her heart knew that she was being irrational, but her thoughts were determined to undermine what little comfort she found in his presence.

"Something wrong with the sandwich?" Collins asked reminding her that she wasn't alone. She shrugged,

"I'm not really hungry." Collins nodded and pulled out a seat at the table. He guided her towards it and Kat guarded herself against feeling anything more than trust that the big man wouldn't harm her. Tears swam in her eyes from the fresh stab of pain that came with remembering why she was with Mark in the first place. Why she didn't want to befriend this guy who seemed to understand.

Collins sat down across from her, leaning over the table propped up by his elbows, "You okay kid?"

There it was again. That voice- understanding, empathy; Kat steeled herself against it.

"Why did my Uncle leave me with you?" she asked instead, ignoring his question and making sure her voice didn't betray what her tears and damp cheeks already had.

With a sigh Collins shrugged, "I don't know. Said he wanted someone to watch you. So you weren't alone."

That was a new development.

Why would Mark want someone to watch her if he didn't care? Or was he just fulfilling some odd sort of Jewish guilt he'd harbored since she was born. He hadn't been a large part of her life up until this point, and maybe now he was just accounting for all the time missed. And where had Roger gone to? The thought of Roger stiffened her back and she glared unintentionally at the sandwich. The pain dulled to a distant lingering rhythm, replaced mostly by anger and irritation.

"Why?" Kat demanded, "What happened to Roger?"

"Who knows what happened to Roger!" Collins laughed, throwing his hands into the air and falling back into the chair, "Who ever knows what's going on with Roger? Probably doing whatever he thinks is going to hurt him less."

Pawing at the sandwich Kat took Collins words to heart even though he had misinterpreted her question. "I meant where is Roger?" she clarified.

"I know," Collins said with a wink. "He's probably downstairs. Mimi lives down there," he answered the unasked question and Kat nodded. Mimi was the girlfriend, that much she knew. It made sense that Roger would be with his girlfriend.

One down, one to go.

"What happened to Mark?" Her voice was beginning to break.

"Well," Collins grinned and Kat had a strong hunch that he was purposely misinterpreting her questions for some unknown reason, "He's probably off doing whatever his heart is telling him to do, trying to make everyone around him happy. Mark- I have no honest to God idea where he could be. It's easy to know logical- that's why Roger's with Mimi, although I don't really know… not so easy to figure out what someone's feeling and where that leads them."

_Then why do I get the sense you know what I'm feeling?_ Kat questioned silently, but she was brooding, mulling over what Collins had said and trying to figure out what it all meant. Why he had told her in the first place was where she was having the most difficulties.

"Usually not so easy," Collins added softly, empathy in his voice and eyes once again. Kat knew he knew something, but didn't know what it was. It didn't make her uncomfortable just… less lonely. Like Mark made her feel. Quickly she shut these feelings out- if Mark didn't want her there was no way in hell she was going to make moving to her grandparents harder than it had to be.

But if what Collins had said was true- that Mark did what his emotions told him and not what was logical… did that mean that he actually wanted her to live with him?

Collins leaning back and put his feet up on the table, arms behind his head. He was still smiling and wiggled his eyebrows when Kat looked up, "I'm sorry, but who did you say you were?" she asked. She knew his name, but not his relationship to Mark or his roommate and his authority on their tendencies.

"Collins. Tom Collins," he said, decidedly James Bond. He dropped his feet and leaned back into the table, "I'm a good friend of Mark and Roger's. I used to live with them a while back."

Kat nodded and went back to fingering her sandwich which was beginning to flatten.

"That's it?" Collins asked and Kat looked up,

"What?"

He grinned, "You're not worried that I'm a burglar breaking in, or that I'm going to try to kidnap you and hold you for ransom money or something? How do you know that I didn't crush sleeping pills into that sandwich?"

The pain lifted a little more with his gestures and theories and Kat felt something tug at her cheeks for a moment before giving up. "I'm not eating it, am I?" she pointed out dully. "Did you?" she asked almost as an afterthought.

"…no," Collins admitted reluctantly. "You trust me just like that then?" he questioned as Kat finally lifted the sandwich off the plate, but not to her mouth. She placed it back down,

"What happened to Mark again? And I mean," she said before he could take any liberties, "Where is he, for how long?"

Collins shrugged, "I told you that I didn't know where he disappeared to. Should be back soon though."

"Oh." The pain was back again, sneering at her, taunting her. Mark disappeared. Disappeared was a synonym for vanished. Insecurities plagued her mind once again and she stood up, causing Collins to look up at her curiously. "I think I'm going to go back to my room now," she stated, pushing in the chair and starting to head towards the door.

Collins was up a second after her sentence, "You sure you don't want to stay? Sit on the couch," she looked at him and he gave her a dazzling smile, "I won't even talk to you if you don't want me to," he promised. Kat looked at the door.

Be alone with depressing thoughts of abandonment, pain and loneliness or sit on the couch with mysterious man who seems to understand you more than you do.

The second was oddly accurate; Kat realized when she thought it that she didn't want to be alone. Anything to keep her mind from dwelling on things that would build up the aching hole in her heart and body. "And do what?" she asked with a hint of nervousness. Anything other than hearing the pain she felt reflect in her voice was a good thing and Kat was already swayed into staying.

Collins shrugged and patted down his pockets, looking for something. He pulled out a tin can and opened it, looking at its contents thoughtfully. "Mark probably wouldn't want us smoking pot…" he trailed off musing. He looked up smiling, then frowned, then grinned, and then frowned again, then pulled a face, a silent debate raging in his head. Finally he closed the tin helplessly, "Sorry, Mark would probably spaz out if he knew I was giving his niece drugs, and that is so not what that boy needs right now."

Kat would have laughed if she could, but instead she took a seat on the couch, staring at the door and pulling her legs up to her chest, leaning against the arm rest.

"Want a pillow?" Collins offered waving the thing before taking his seat in the chair he'd been sitting in when she came out of the room. Kat declined and silence fell between them. Collins picked up his newspaper and true to his word didn't initiate any conversation.

For a while Kat watched him, finding it a lot easier to focus on things other than the burn in her chest while in the presence of someone else. But he was still a mystery to her and she wanted to figure him out.

She glanced at the door.

Why did he give off the impression that he knew. That he understood. Where did his empathy come from? The questions swirled around in her mind as she altered between glancing at the door and memorizing the image of him sitting on the couch chair: left leg perpendicular to the right and bent at a ninety degree angle, ankle resting on knee of opposite, the hem of his pants slightly torn and pulled up from the position, stray bits of thread sticking out oddly against mismatched socks.

Glance at the door.

His baggy clothes bunched around his waist and stomach but fell off his slightly hunched figure nicely, draping around his tall body;

Glance at the door.

Head bent, arms resting comfortably on either armrest, sleeves settled around his forearm and elbow, eyes scanning and reading the paper in front of him.

Glance at the door.

What was it about him?

Glance at the door.

She had to know.

"How did you know I didn't want to be alone?" Kat finally ventured and Collins eyes stopped reading but he didn't look up.

His voice was tender and controlled and she could hear that it was still being repaired. It had been broken like hers, but slowly, it was healing. ""Cause I know how it feels to lose what you cared about most."

Who? was the question she wasn't going to ask, and Collins didn't offer up any more explanation than that so she let it be. There was a noise outside the hallway, a loud noise, and Kat flinched.

Removing her gaze from Collins, she planted it on the door once again, praying that Mark would just come back and release her from the agony her mind was putting her through. Was he coming back? When would he come back? Would he still want her when he did? Or would he be succumbing to his senses and realizing that this wasn't really what he wanted to do? Or had signed up for.

"Are you scared that he won't be coming back?" Collins asked, still not looking up. The controlled and injured voice was gone- confident, supportive and friendly Collins was back.

"No," Kat answered instantly. Too quickly, they both knew and Collins looked up. This time Kat couldn't meet his eyes; she'd never been good at lying.

Collins nodded after a moment and looked back at his paper, "Okay."

Kat berated herself for her behavior. Yes her… her eyes prickled and she swallowed with great difficulty. Maybe she wasn't ready to think about that quite yet. But nonetheless, her fears concerning Mark were certainly irrational and unfounded. No doubt Collins would reinforce that. So there was no point in asking, was there?

Collins was looking at her again and she started picking at her socked foot. "A little," she admitted in a whisper, but she knew he'd heard her. "It's a little stupid, isn't it? Irrational, I mean."

"No," Collins said instantly, "No, it's not." The teacher in him was itching to be heard and he relented, "You know it's not irrational if you think it's irrational. Crazy people think that they're sane, don't they?" Kat nodded hesitantly. "It's not the other way around. Take phobias. Arachnophobia? They say that the damn things are more terrified of you than you are of them, but hell- have you ever seen someone flip, like, really flip out about a tiny little spider? I don't think the little bugger even has the emotional capacity to be that terrified of something else. The person knows that it's irrational and stupid and has absolutely no basis, and yet," he made a twirling motion with his finger and a swishing noise, "They see that little eight legged bitch and man, they are _gone_."

It took a little while for Kat to figure out the meaning and moral of his little schpeal; when she spoke up Collins had already returned to his paper. "So… are you saying that you don't think he wants me?"

"God no!" Collins exclaimed, almost laughing at the absurdity of her question. He reminded himself firmly that there was no such thing as a stupid question. "No! I'm saying that it's natural for you to feel that way and have doubts about his motives… however bogus those feelings are. Trust me, he wants you here and you wouldn't be here if he didn't."

"Okay," Kat whispered, hating herself for the small string of attachment she'd developed for Collins. Hating herself that she was opening herself up to be completely annihilated again. But she couldn't help it- Collins was a presence that she sorely needed at the moment, someone who would reassure her that she was wanted and actually had the ability to damper her doubts. "Yeah, okay," she said almost mutely, more so to herself than him.

Mark would come back soon and then she would know for sure. She curled up tighter, listening to the relaxing swish of Collins turning the pages of his paper. She could sit here and wait, concentrate on Collins and the paper and the… joint dangling from his fingers?

"I can't offer you any, but hell, I need one of these suckers. Do you mind?" he asked lazily and Kat shook her head, watching with fascination as he lit up the joint and continued to read his paper, the thin stick dangling at first between his fingers and then from his mouth.

Her fingers itched as she watched Collins. For the first time since the accident Kat was feeling something that resembled her old self. A couple strays of the mountain of dust that remained from her old life were cumbersomely swept into a pile; after all, hadn't Collins said he knew what she felt like? And he was coping well enough, wasn't he?

Maybe she would be able to get through this, like Collins got through whatever had happened to him.

Maybe she could find herself again and figure out where she fit in the organism of the building.

Maybe she wouldn't completely discard who she had been- maybe she'd already found three people that would help her become a mixture of both old and new.

And maybe Mark hadn't been lying that night at the hotel.

Maybe, just maybe… things would get better.

**A/N: ...so? Thanks to those that reviewed (Grape, Glow), and I hope everyone knows you don't need an account to review. So review if you can, even if it's just a couple words. I'm moving in about a week, so things are going to be hectic. I'll get the next chapter up as soon as I can. Usually I write out of sync, the middle, then the beginning, then the end, then more of the middle- but I can't do that with this, so updates may not be as consistent as they could be. Sorry.**


	11. January 10th 4:33 pm EST

_Potty-mouth Alert!_

**The Loft**

**January 10****th**** 4:33 pm EST**

Roger was the first one back to the loft.

Collins had been reading mundane newspaper articles to Kat's motionless body after promising her that he wouldn't stop speaking until she finally gave in and had a bite of the sandwich he'd made for her.

He knew that he wasn't that bad of a cook, and that he'd made a pretty generic sandwich.

He also knew that he either wasn't very high or that he liked this girl a lot because he was still going strong after making the threat over an hour ago.

It didn't matter though- it seemed to relax her a little. The door opened and he was about to chew Mark's ass out when Roger stumbled in, the second and fourth buttons on his shirt done up and his belt undone. Classic Roger- rather, classic pre-junkie-slash-HIV days, Roger. Collins missed it a little.

"Do you know where Mimi is?" he asked without looking to see if anyone was home. Instead he headed directly into his bedroom. He walked out promptly, clearly disoriented, "I don't live in there anymore, do I?" he muttered to himself, running a hand through his mop of hair and heading towards the door underneath the Perch.

Collins watched with silent glee as Roger opened the door, walked in, and nearly ran back out, "What the FUCK happened in there?" he demanded, finally looking around the small apartment.

"Why 'ello there, chap," Collins grinned up at him and Roger narrowed his eyes,

"What the fuck Collins?"

Collins folded up his newspaper and threw it in Kat's general direction, "Glad to see you've finally noticed me. I was starting to feel unappreciated. Like the invisible man or something."

"Isn't it invisible girl?" Roger asked, scrunching his face.

Collins shrugged, "What are you, the pop culture police? I'm a guy Roger- a gay guy, but still a guy. So it's the invisible man and I don't care what the goddamn comic says."

"Yeah yeah," Roger muttered, sitting down on the chair closest to him.

"What's up with you?" Collins asked, getting up to straighten his legs. He wobbled for a second, but luckily Roger didn't notice- Roger was staring at the girl on the couch, who was staring right back with a look of immeasurable contempt. Collins was secretly impressed. "I see you two have met already," he ventured cautiously. Roger nodded and ducked his head but Kat kept right on glaring at him.

Picking up the plate with the uneaten sandwich on the way to the kitchen, awkward silence was the mother's grandfather's college roommate's second ex-girlfriend three times removed to him and his comfortable state of fading high; he settled on admitting that he sort of kinda liked the girl. "What's eating you Roger?" he asked when he caught sight of Roger's face once again.

Roger shifted uncomfortably, "Have you seen Mimi lately?"

"I've been up here since you stormed out on Mark this morning, and she ain't been up here," he offered.

Roger looked up guiltily, "Oh yeah, I was supposed to watch Kat for him, wasn't I?" he muttered.

"I don't need to be watched," Kat whispered in that fragile voice of hers, taking her eyes off Roger and glancing at the door. There was resentment in her statement and Collins was happy he wasn't going to be stuck in the loft indefinitely anytime in the near future. He could keep the girl company, sure, but with Roger already in the dog house with her, and Mark well on his way to joining him… well, he didn't want to be caught in the fireworks that were sure to soon be erupting.

Roger ignored Kat's small show of protest, instead focusing on trying to give Collins an answer that wasn't too detailed, but specific enough to know that Mimi could potentially be in trouble in the near future. "I waited down there for a couple of hours for her to come home and then we fell asleep together. She was gone when I woke up."

"Damn man," Collins said instantly, taking it for what it was, "You think she's-"

"I…" he glanced at Kat, who stared him down. "I think she is. I don't know how long or how hard, but…"

If Mimi was using again, it wasn't good for anyone. It wasn't good for Roger, and it wasn't good for Mark, who sounded like he already had legal issues up his ass; needless to say, he didn't need custodian and environment issues to add to the burden. It especially wasn't good for Mimi.

"Roger, you've got to do something," Collins said. It was obvious, but he was talking to Roger. Roger kind of overlooked obvious sometimes.

"I know Thomas," Roger said irately. So, Roger had noticed and all was not lost. His fists unclenched and he sagged into the chair, "I know, but I can't do anything unless she wants to do it. I've tried to talk to her about it but…"

Collins sat down on the edge of the metal table, "Not everyone's the same Roger. I mean," he threw a glance at Kat, who was looking at the door again, "How long did it take me and Mark to-"

"I know," Roger sighed, closing his eyes. Collins' heart went out to him. It really did, because Roger knew better than most the damage Mimi was lining herself up for. And the pain. And Roger loved Mimi. So he kept going,

"And even then it took until April-"

"Fuck Collins, I know," Roger growled, getting up off his seat and stomping into his room. April was slowly becoming a less touchy subject, but implying Mimi's impending death was a whole other can of worms.

Kat was watching the curtains which were still swinging gently and Collins grinned. "Three, two, one…" he counted down. Roger promptly came storming back into the main area of the loft,

"Fuck, how many times do I have to do that?"

Collins opened his mouth and Roger snapped at him, "I wasn't asking you."

"Yeah, but you're still the one invading Kitty's privacy every five minutes."

Roger looked like he was going to apologize, but Kat wasn't looking at him and he closed his mouth.

He was saved from another awkward silence by the loft door opening. "Sorry I'm late!" Mark yelled from behind a monstrous load of paper and plastic bags, kicking the door half-closed behind him and heading in the direction of the kitchen. Collins got up and took a couple of the bags while Roger took one and started digging through it.

"Roger, stop it," Mark said in an offhand way that suggested that he didn't really expect Roger to stop.

Roger didn't stop.

"Where the hell did you get the money for this?" he asked instead, pulling out bread and two boxes of cereal. He ripped open a box of Capt'n Crunch and tore the plastic nearly in half. "Mmm, this is fantastic!" he groaned through a mouthful of food and Mark rolled his eyes,

"Joanne gave me… Shiva and… you know…" he was looking around the loft now and Collins had noticed that Kat had disappeared without a sound. "Where's Kitty?" Mark asked, confused.

Collins pointed to the swinging curtains and Mark's face fell. Roger sat on the counter and immersed himself in the game on the back of the box in his hands.

Mark sighed. "I just fucked up, didn't I Collins," he muttered.

"How were you supposed to know leaving would freak her out?" Collins tried to console. But Mark wasn't paying attention to him. He was too busy beating himself up,

"I did know Collins, I did!" He lowered his voice when he realized he was shouting, "Damnit, I shouldn't have stayed out for so long."

"You can't be here for her all the time Mark," Collins pointed out and Mark shook his head helplessly,

"I know, but…" he turned away, shoulders hunched and still not convinced of his innocence.

Collins looked to Roger, who shook his head and went back to his puzzle. "Mark," Collins said, "She'll understand. Katharine's just worried that this is a temporary arrangement, and you scared her a bit when you didn't come back after a couple hours."

"Yeah, where were you? It doesn't take that long to get groceries, does it?"

For a second Roger was scared Mark was going to rant at him for leaving like he did in the morning, but instead, Mark's face softened, "How's Mimi doing? She okay? I haven't had a chance to see her yet…"

Roger shrugged. Collins was okay, but he wasn't going to stick his problems on Mark. Mark didn't need it right now. "She's fine," he answered neutrally shooting a look at Collins to keep him from adding anything.

Mark nodded along, pouring a bowl of milk and handing it to Roger absently.

"Thanks?"

"Does she really think this is temporary?" Mark asked, putting the milk away and handing Roger a fork, who accepted it wordlessly, "Did she say that?"

Collins shrugged, "It might've come up. Didn't really say it, but didn't deny it either. Look Mark, just go talk to her. That kids so lost she couldn't find the money in a bank."

Mark finally faced him and Collins could see how troubled he was by their conversation. "What happened at the lawyers?" Collins asked, taking a guess as to why Mark was really beating himself up. Mark's worry-lined face turned angry,

"My fucking parents happened," he muttered venomously and Roger shook his head at Collins, indicating the need for an immediate change in conversation. Mark hated his parents in the way any kid seeking independence would; he resented them and maybe a little more- but swearing at them- _Mark_ swearing at them, was not a good sign.

"Are they threatening to take her away?" Collins asked, ignoring Roger's silent plea.

Mark nodded tightly and Roger swore. "What did Joanne say?" Collins asked and Mark looked up at him helplessly,

"That there was basically nothing we could do. The guy we're working with is pretty cool and he's on our side but…"

Collins nodded and Roger discreetly picked up a spoon for his cereal. "Do you think they've got a case?" he asked, a little milk dribbling down his chin. "What?"

"They wanted to send a social worker here,"

"Fuck man," Collins muttered, looking around the loft. It probably wouldn't pass any kind of inspection except one for demolition.

"But," Mark continued, staring off into space, "The guy said that if Kat saw a shrink every week and got decent grades at school he could hold them off."

"A shrink?" Roger repeated with a level of disgust that was even surprising for Roger. "I fucking hate shrinks."

Collins rolled his eyes, "Well if you behaved like the conformed whole-wheat muffin they wanted you to be in rehab, you wouldn't have gotten transferred out group therapy."

"No fucking way I'm turning into a Muffy. You should have heard them Thomas," Roger defended, "They were all 'woe-is me, I'm a rich, attention seeking fuckmachine!' Goddamn yuppies-"

"Muffins-"

"Can we please not talk about that?" Mark pleaded, looking between the two. "And if you're going to anyway, can you let me know so I can leave?"

Roger looked uncomfortable again, "Sorry man."

"You should go talk to her anyway," Collins suggested, nodding towards Roger's old room. Mark hesitated but Collins grinned at him, "I promise we'll be good little boys." He ruffled Roger's hair and almost got speared in the palm with the fork.

"Fuck off Collins," Roger growled and Collins laughed.

"You ever gonna to get a haircut boy? I can hardly see you under that mane," he teased.

Roger glared at him, "If you don't get away from me, I'm going to chuck this in your face,"

"But then there wouldn't be enough for you _and_ your hair!" Collins pointed out. There was a yelp and a curse and Mark was shoved aside as Roger blew past him, Collins hot on his heels, covered in milk.

The door was still partially open and Roger almost managed to get through it before Collins caught the back of his shirt, popping off the two buttons that were done up and halting Roger's escape.

"Help me Mark!" Roger screamed as Collins tossed aside the now ruined shirt and wrestled Roger back into the loft. Mark ignored him as he headed the opposite way, disappearing behind the curtains and ignoring Roger's pleas for help. They were still audible from inside the bedroom, and Mark stood by the door until they died down a little, watching his niece.

Kat was sitting on her bed, facing away from the door. He knew that she must have heard at least parts of the conversation, but he didn't know if any of them had registered. If she'd actually _heard_ anything that was said. He took a step forward and the floorboard creaked.

"Uncle Mark-"

Busted, he thought to himself. "Kitty, I need to talk to you about-"

"I don't want to see a therapist."

Mark hesitated. So she had been listening. She had heard. Hopefully she hadn't heard him swearing at his parents- although Maya hadn't left home on the greatest terms with their parents, grandparents were still grandparents, and they were her grandparents. He wondered if Maya told her why she was with him, instead of with them.

He touched her shoulder gently, relieved when she didn't shrink away. "You might find that it helps- having someone to talk to," he said softly.

Mark's tone caused Kat to look up, and she realized that she was crying again. She'd made it so long without crying… it was because of Collins. Collins gave her something else to focus on, understood her and read articles about the 'First 30 Days' and how to 'Change Positively'.

"I do," she said softly.

"Actually talking to someone though Kitty," he stressed, but she had talked to Collins, hadn't she?

"I have. You," she elaborated. She knew she was frustrating Mark with her answers, but she was also telling the truth. "You, and… Roger." Roger sort of counted, didn't he? "And Collins. Collins told you- I heard that he did. And I've talked to you."

"And I'll always be here for you to talk to. But-"

Kat pulled her legs up to her chest, leaning against Mark so she wouldn't fall off the bed, "I'll go," she whispered. "I'll go if you want me to stay here. I don't want to, but I will."

"Collins said that you were thought I didn't want you. Is that true?" he asked softly and she tensed up, shaking her head instantly,

"No," she denied quickly. After a beat her shoulders slumped a little. "A little bit…" she admitted, "It's stupid though, right?"

It was stupid but Mark didn't want to say that. He didn't know quite when he'd stopped second-guessing his decision and it still terrified him to a degree, but he knew it was what he wanted. And what Kat wanted too, but wasn't willing to admit. He wrapped an arm around the girl, shifting so he was facing her, "Kitty, what can I do to prove that I want you to stay with me?"

Kat looked into his eyes; felt his arm pressing against her waist and the comfort she experienced in his presence. "You just did," she whispered, tearing up.

"Hey," Mark said softly, wiping away the first couple tears that fell down her face, "It's alright. We'll get through it. I can't promise that things won't be tough sometimes," he warned and despite her tears she nodded. "That we won't get frustrated or angry. But I'm never not going to want you here," he emphasized. He wanted her to finally understand that he wasn't going anywhere. To know she could let herself fully go.

"I love you Kitty," he whispered, recognizing the truth as he spoke it. He spoke it now because she didn't know yet- because the love he had for her grew in that moment into something that surpassed their unconditional blood connection, grew into something he knew he'd do anything for. For a moment they looked at one another, feeding off of the raw emotion in their eyes.

Kat closed her eyes tightly, refusing to let the emotion drown her. Because as much as it hurt to admit, she felt what Mark was feeling; she felt something that she hadn't felt since _it_ had happened. "I… I love you too Mark," she whispered.

Admitting it was harder than she thought and she felt her throat constricting, her insides shriveling up and her heart pulling her chest down. A fresh wave of tears came over her and her body started convulsing with sobs. Mark wrapped both his arms around her, muttering into her ear as Kat fought to regain control of herself.

"Are you going to be okay?" he asked finally in the gentlest voice he could muster without breaking.

"It's just…" Kat took a deep, hitching breathe. "It's supposed to be good. Why does it hurt so much to admit-?" the rest of the sentence was lost as Kat lost it and started sobbing again.

Mark gently lowered her down to the bed, settling down beside her as she burying into his sweater. He knew what Kat had meant to say. After all, hadn't he once asked how something could be the complete opposite of its definition, of what it was supposed to mean and make you feel? How something so frozen could be so scalding hot?

"Uh, Mark?"

Mark looked over Kat's head to see Roger poking his head through the curtains, looking extremely uncomfortable and shirtless. "Yeah Roger?" he asked and Kat pulled away from him slightly; her tears had stopped.

"Sorry. Me and Collins were going to go to the Life to pick up some food," he explained quickly, "You want anything?"

Mark narrowed his eyes, suspicious. "Why are you going to the Life? We have food in the fridge," he reminded and Roger shrugged,

"Fuck, I don't know. It was Collins' idea. He wanted to cook something but he said that Kat wouldn't eat it if he cooked, and if we went to the Life there was no way that she could pass up and he's paying so-" Roger stopped his own rant. "Look, do you want anything or not?" he demanded. Kat was peering behind her which seemed to make Roger squirm even more. "Because if I'm just wasting time that could be spent getting food and actually eating the-"

"Roger," Mark interrupted with an amused smile. Roger rarely got flustered but when he did it was pretty amusing. Roger stopped talking and glared at him. "Just get me the usual."

"So, a cup of tea you can't pay for?" Roger jibbed and Mark rolled his eyes, but found himself unable to resist playing,

"Not like you could pay either."

"Whatever. Kat, you, uh, want something too?"

Kat shook her head and Roger nodded, almost disappearing before Collins voice stopped him,

"If Kitty's shaking her head tell her we're getting her something anyways and I'm going to force it down her throat if I have to!"

Mark bit back a smile and Roger lingered just long enough to whisper, "He really will too. We'll be back soon," before disappearing.

Roger and Collins bickered a little and the loft door opened and closed and Kat twisted back around to face Mark properly.

"Kat," he said, wanting to there to be no doubt left after their conversation about his feelings for her. He wanted her to understand that he _wanted_ her with him. "I meant what I said. I love you and I want you to stay with me." Kat swallowed and nodded, biting her lip. "Do you believe me?" he asked, looking closely to see if she was going to lie.

"Yes," Kat whispered and Mark couldn't detect anything dishonest in her face or tone. He kissed her forehead and pulled her in close, closing his eyes and waiting for Collins and Roger to come back with some food.

Kat buried herself in his embrace, buried herself in the warmth coming from his body. Tired to communicate to him that she felt the same but couldn't bring herself to say it again. Not when it made her feel so guilty to even think about it. Admitting it once was enough.

But why did it feel so wrong to love someone else?

**A/N: So I have no idea how long I'm going to be without internet, and ergo have no idea when I'm going to be able to update next. Sorry :(  
**

**I just want to say thank you thank you thank you! to everyone that reviewed. It was nice to see so much feedback, and I hope this chapter gets the same response. Writing three guys is kind of annoying though, cause 'he' can refer to any one of them, but hopefully it wasn't too messed up/confusing. And hopefully Mark didn't come off as a creep. Haha. As always, please review! **


	12. January 11th 8:44 am EST

**Friday**

**January 11****th**** 8:44 am EST**

Maureen felt faint.

There was blood rushing to her head. It was getting harder and harder to see. Straight wasn't straight anymore and she shot out an arm, thankful when it connected with something solid. Gripping it tightly she fell to the floor, wincing as her knees bounced. Her legs were tingling and her forehead connected to something solid.

She tried to think back, tried to remember when.

Tried to remember who.

"Honey Bear?"

The voice was far away but Maureen knew who it was.

Maureen knew what that person meant to her.

"Honey Bear?"

The voice was closer now, and Maureen tired desperately to hold back the bile rising in her throat. She didn't want to hurt that person.

A knock on the door.

"Honey Bear, is everything alright?"

The voice was worrying- but then again, worry was like second nature for Joanne.

"Honey Bear," the locked door handle rattled, "Mo, are you okay? Open the door," it demanded and Maureen shook her head.

_Oh God oh God oh God, this can't be happening._

What would Joanne think?

Joanne-

"Honey Bear!"

There was a definite note of panic in the voice and Maureen forced herself up. Forced herself to open her mouth and speak.

"I'm fine Pookie."

Forced herself not to wince at the lie.

There was a pause and Maureen prayed that Joanne would listen to her, trust her and let her go. But she knew that Joanne loved her too much to dismiss her like that and she loved Joanne too much to get mad at her for it.

"You don't sound fine Honey Bear," was Joanne's reply and Maureen cringed. "You've been sick a lot lately," Joanne was saying, "Maybe we should go see a doctor or something. Honey, what do you think about that?"

"I'm fine," Maureen croaked out again, cursing herself for how not fine her voice sounded. For already going to the doctors. She knew what was going on- she just couldn't bring herself to tell Joanne.

For a while Joanne didn't say anything, but Maureen could still see her feet by the door.

"At least open the door so I can kiss you goodbye before I go?" Joanne requested softly.

Maureen forced herself to stand, forced herself to unlock the door. Forced herself to hug Joanne and repeat that she would be fine. Forced herself to convince Joanne to go to work and that she would manage without her. Forced herself for those couple of seconds to forget why she was feeling sick in the first place and what she had done.

Maureen watched Joanne go and couldn't help but think.

Because, it wasn't like she cheated on Joanne. They had been on a break, hadn't they? Or had they just been…

Her face was inches away from the toilet water when she felt herself throwing up, spitting up bile and whatever was left of the pre-cooked chicken Joanne had picked up yesterday after Mark's meeting.

Mark.

Mark would know what to do.

She curled up on the floor for a second, a plan formulating in her head. Mark always knew what to do.

Mark could help her.

- - - - -

Maureen walked to the loft in a daze. New York City was good for that, she decided as she punched in the numbers to the boys' telephone, New York was good for walking blocks upon blocks in a daze. She couldn't quite remember how she'd gotten there. The only thing she really had was a vague and questionable memory that existed in the back of her mind of almost getting hit by a taxi.

The answering machine slurred its greeting and Maureen turned around to glare up at the apartment. "Get off your fucking lazy asses and answer the god-damn phone before I climb up there and castrate the both of you!" She was yelling by the end of the sentence and only then wondered if her threat was a little too over the top.

Someone picked up on the other end, "Maureen? Is that you?" Mark asked hesitantly.

"No you fucking moron," Maureen growled into the receiver, "It's K.D. fucking Lang. I'm outside,"

"Maureen?" Mark called from the fire escape and Maureen slammed the phone down into its cradle a little harder than necessary. "Maureen, what are you doing here?"

"If you would open the door, maybe I could TELL YOU!" she shouted up at him and he recoiled slightly. Apparently Maureen was in one of her moods. He quickly went inside to retrieve the key so he could throw it down to her, dreading the moment she walked through the loft door.

Kat was looking at him questioningly from the couch as he paced in front of her. So far the morning had been quiet, as they'd both just gotten out of bed, but he figured that was over for good now. He stopped walking for a moment and wondered what he could say to her to prepare her. "My ex-girlfriend Maureen is coming up," he started and there was a flicker of recognition on Kat's face,

"The lesbian?" was all she asked and he sighed, nodding. He was officially doomed to be forever known as the man who got dumped by a lesbian. Even though he swore he could hear Roger laughing from wherever he'd gone to brood, Kat didn't even crack a smile.

And he had to ask himself if everyone in his immediate and extended family knew about the break up and its circumstances.

Somehow he didn't doubt it.

"Mark! OPEN THE FUCKING DOOR!"

Mark jumped at the sound of Maureen's angry voice and Kat eyed the door unimpressed.

"Whatever happens," Mark said quickly, heading to the door before someone had a chance to call the police, "I want you to know that she's normally not like this. Honestly." And with that he opened the door and moved aside to let Maureen plow her way past him.

Her eyes were ablaze and he sorely hoped that he wasn't the one that was going to be subject to her anger.

"Mark," Maureen demanded and Mark felt himself grow weary. Why was he always the one to get barked at? "Mark!" Maureen said again. He glanced behind her to gauge Kat's reaction but the teenager wasn't giving him anything.

"Maureen-what?" he asked as she almost screamed in frustration and turned to walk away from him. She got a couple steps before noticing Kat and stopping short.

"Mark, I need to talk to you," she said and he refrained from making any sarcastic comments. At least she wanted to talk and not beat him to a pulp.

"So talk," Mark prompted after a couple of seconds. Maureen glared at him,

"Alone," she stressed. Mark wanted to throttle her for dismissing Kat's presence like that. He wondered if she even knew who the girl sitting on the couch was, or her connection to him. He wasn't sure how much Joanne had told her about their situation.

Kat stared at the stranger with quiet resentment and confusion. What the hell was wrong with this lady?

Maureen huffed, "Let's go outside then." She scowled at Kat as she took Mark's hand and pulled him out to the fire escape, closing the window.

"Maureen," Mark said patiently as he watched Kat shift on the couch so that she was lying down, "That's my niece."

"You're what?" Maureen asked blankly and Mark couldn't tell if she was purposely doing it.

"My niece…" he said slowly. Maureen blinked and he couldn't believe it. How self-centered could Maureen be? Unless… something was really bothering her. Usually Maureen was better than this, wasn't she? She had to be…

"You have a niece?" Maureen was saying and Mark willed himself to not snap at her.

"Yes," he said in a calm, controlled voice, "Her name's Kat."

A small light bulb flickered over Maureen's head for a second before going out. "Well, whatever. Look, I'm in trouble Mark."

Of course you are, he thought dryly. Wasn't that the only time she came to him? When she was in trouble? He berated himself for thinking it though, because he knew that it wasn't true. Or maybe it was, but he liked to think he knew Maureen- Maureen wasn't usually like this. Never this genuinely terrified. Something was seriously wrong.

"Okay," he said evenly, waiting for an explanation.

Maureen watched him for a moment before shaking her head in disbelief. "Okay?!" she asked, exasperated, "That's all I get, a measly okay? Mark, my life is flashing before my eyes!"

She was screaming at him but for some reason Mark couldn't bring himself to believe that she was just over exaggerating. Nonetheless, time had taught him that it was per usual for Maureen to inflate the importance of some issues.

"What's the matter Maureen?" he asked, hoping the amount of concern and sympathy in his voice was appropriate this time, "I'm sure it isn't that bad."

Maureen looked away from him, suddenly nervous and he once again kicked himself for the sarcasm that had dripped into his voice. "Mark," she asked in a small voice that was entirely uncharacteristic for her. "Black people have black children, right?"

Mark blinked, trying to decipher the reason behind the question. "Yeah…" he trialed off, now thoroughly confused. He thought that Maureen had come up to him to vent about something or someone, but now it looked as though there was a genuine problem.

"What… what would happen if you and Collins had kids?" she asked softly.

The question played back in Mark's mind and confirmed that he'd heard right. And he was appalled. "Maureen!" he protested, "What the hell?"

"If you and Collins had kids," she repeated, "What color would they be?"

Mark turned away from her and walked as far as he could, leaning against the railing. What the hell kind of question was that? He started laughing, "Do you realize what you just said?" he asked and she looked hurt so he stopped. "Do you hear the things you say sometimes? Do you understand just how-why?"

Something slid into place.

This was Maureen he was talking to.

Maureen, who had cheated on him with a girl.

Maureen, who had cheated.

Maureen, who was a girl…

"Maureen-" he started, determined to get his current line of thought dismissed as quickly as possible. Because it wasn't possible. It _was _possible, but for anyone other than Maureen. It was impossible for Maureen.

Maureen was holding his hands and he was shaking his head slowly. There was no way.

"I love Joanne," Maureen was saying and all he could think about was that Maureen cheated and that Maureen was a girl. "I love her. I love her so much!" Maureen was crying now, but Mark had been attached to a crying girl for the past week so Maureen's tears didn't have a very noteworthy effect on him.

"Maureen… are you pregnant?" he asked slowly. Maureen's sob was all the verification he needed. "Are you sure?" Another sob. "But you're a…" Joanne was a girl too, he realized. Which meant that… "You cheated. You cheated on Joanne? ON JOANNE?" he yelled.

He pulled his hands out of hers, needing to get away from her. From her tears. From her infidelity. From her.

"I didn't cheat on her Markie!" she wailed.

Mark tired not to scoff. "How can you say that when you're pregnant?" he demanded. "You can love her Maureen, but you sure as hell can't REPORDUCE with her!"

He knew that he was hurting Maureen but he couldn't stop himself. The past week was catching up with him and he was starting to feel the effects of not sleeping properly, not eating properly, of not being able to show his distress and pain and watching someone go through it ten times worse than him. Maureen was crying and he knew the proper thing to do was go over and hug her, but he couldn't bring himself to do it.

Kat cried too, but Kat couldn't control what happened. Couldn't control how her life had suddenly been turned upside down.

Maureen could have prevented it though; that thought kept him at bay, kept him resigned to settle on watching her.

"We- we were on a break!" Maureen sniffed and Mark searched his memory for a time after MarkandMaureen that there was no Joanne. A significant amount of time, an appropriate amount of time in which this could have happened.

"When were you on a break?" he asked, coming up short, "When?"

"Just before-"

And then it occurred to him, even before she uttered the name. "Angel's funeral," he finished softly. They had broken up. Just before Angel had died. They had broken up, Mimi and Roger had broken up and Collins and Angel had been forced to break up. Their family had broken up- how could he forget? "Maureen," he muttered softly, doing some mental math. Even though math wasn't his strongest subject, the calculations he had to do were easy. "Maureen, that wasn't even a month," he whispered.

"It was just break up sex!" Maureen wailed, "When people break up they have break up sex Markie!"

"With the person they just broke up with!" He was talking almost as loudly as Maureen was, the both of them yelling back and forth. "Not with someone who can make them pregnant!"

"Mind shouting a little louder?" Maureen yelled, "I don't think CORPORATE AMERICA heard you!"

Mark calmed himself. "You cheated on Joanne," he said, "And you're pregnant… do you at least know who the father is?" It was as good a place as any to start, wasn't it?

Maureen shook her head, "No."

"Not even a vague idea?" Mark pressed, not sold. He had to believe that there wasn't more than one guy. He had to.

Maureen wasn't crying anymore but still managed to look extremely venerable. "Well…"

"Maureen," Mark said and Maureen swallowed.

"Yes," she said quickly, "Do you know Logan Hart?"

The name rung a bell and he tried to remember where he'd heard it before. "The… guy that got fired from the Life three weeks ago?"

Maureen looked down ashamed, "Yeah, him. Markie, tell me what to do!"

"Maureen, I… I don't know," he said truthfully. It wasn't like he'd been in the same situation before.

Venerable turned into terrified and Maureen gripped Mark's hands again. "I came to you for help Mark!" she cried, desperate for some direction. And he wanted to give it to her- he really did. But he didn't know what to do. "Maaarkie," she whined and he pulled away from her again, heading to the opposite side of the escape.

She was staring at him and he opened his mouth a couple of times but nothing came out. "I don't know how to help you Maureen," he finally said. "You had sex with another person, and the evidence of that is… well, pretty much irrefutable."

"Sex doesn't mean anything Mark; I love Joanne."

How many times had he heard that line before, with his name substituted for Joanne's? "Maureen, you know that sex means something to Joanne. Sex means something to everyone but you!"

"But we weren't together!" she stressed and Mark started wondering why she was telling him all of this instead of Joanne. Wouldn't her efforts be more useful directed to the one person who this really affected? Who really mattered in this equation? It wasn't Mark's baby and he wasn't going out with Maureen. Suddenly Mark just wanted for Maureen to have been her drama queen self storming up to the loft for some ridiculously trivial reason, for Roger and Mimi to be happy together and for Kat to be the niece he knew he had but never really gave a second thought to.

"What do you want me to say Maureen?" Mark asked, completely prepared to tell her anything she needed to hear. He wanted to make this better- his friends were going through enough distress and at least he could help Maureen through hers. "Do you want me to say that everything will work out? That everything will be fine? That Joanne will forgive you and take you back? Tell me and I'll say it!"

"Mark…" Maureen was starting to cry again and this time Mark did feel bad for her. This time Mark was compelled to move towards her and wrap his arms around her, letting her bury her face into that place in his sweater that was usually reserved for Kat.

Mark petted Maureen's hair and rubbed her back, knowing that the gestures were the best things he could do to make her feel better. They sat on the ground, Maureen in-between his legs, curled up into him. Mark cradled her like a baby, not used to being this person for her. He was rarely that person for her while they were dating and never after they had broken up.

He knew what she wanted, but he couldn't give it to her. He didn't know how to give it to her. It was then that Mark decided if he was to have any superpower he would have the ability to reassure people. To take away their pain and their sadness and just make them… not hurt. "Look Maureen… I can't right now. I just- I really can't. I'm sorry. I'm sorry," he repeated.

"You're Mark," she whispered, still shaking, "You make everything better."

Mark felt his own eyes moisten behind his glasses at the irony of what his ex-girlfriend had just said.

"Yeah, well... lately I can't seem to make anything better."

And he held her, because as much as she could have prevented it, she was still Maureen, and a little piece of him still loved her.

**A/N: Total props to Idina Menzel and Traci Thoms for the walking in a daze sentence. -'Yes they **_**did**_**!' and 'Neigh!… 'nay-sayer'… neigh?…' '….' are the greatest things ever. I love Traci Thoms. Good for her, closing Rent on Broadway as Joanne. Finally got her dream, lol. **

**Oh, and I know K.D. Lang came out in 1992 and this is set in 1991, but I figured the shout-out to the 1994 NYTW of Rent was worth it. But Maureen doesn't know that she's a lesbian. Just so we're clear and no one's biting my head of… would that happen anyway? **

**Hope you review… I'm not that great at writing MoJo. I just… it's hard. So yeah. And the next chapter is going to be... really really really long. So it might take a while to type up. But it'll be loooong.  
**

**  
Please review!**


	13. January 13th 6:04 pm EST Part 1

_Warning: Ridiculously Long Build-Up_

**The Loft**

**January 13****th**** 6:04 pm EST**

Mark watched with quiet amusement as Roger tiptoed around the couch, trying his hardest not to wake the sleeping teenager on it. After a couple renditions of 'Your Eyes' and some fragmented piece of melody Mark didn't recognize, Kat had drifted off to sleep, curled into a small ball against the armrest of the couch. Now Roger was torn between wanting to cover her with the blanket in his hands and not wanting to risk waking her. And as amusing as it was to watch, it was really getting old.

"Just do it," Mark whispered and Roger jumped violently.

He turned around and frowned when he saw Mark sitting on the top of his ladder, "How long have you been watching?"

"Long enough. Just do it already," he encouraged again. He wasn't completely ignorant of the tension between his two roommates; he was just too drained to outright address it. It would work itself out anyway- or, at least that was his plan. By the looks of it he didn't really have much to worry about in the long run.

The edge of the blanket drooped to the floor. "I don't want to wake her up," Roger muttered, looking so miserable at the prospect that Mark couldn't help but laugh. "What?" he demanded irately, glaring.

Mark climbed down the ladder and headed to the door without answering the question. "I'm going to go get Mimi for dinner."

Roger cursed Mark silently for leaving him alone. It was like an unwritten law that the girl would now wake up and he'd spend the next couple minutes squirming and trying to avoid her gaze. The blanket was still clutched in his hands and he figured that Mark wouldn't ever let up if he didn't just do it already. What was there to be scared of anyways? They'd been getting along alright eating food from the Life two days ago, hadn't they? And he hadn't seen her after that so there was nothing under the bridge between them…

As gently as he could Roger draped the blanket over the sleeping girl, wincing when she rolled her head against the couch. "Don't wake up, don't wake up, don't wake up," he muttered under his breath as he released the corners and the full weight of the blanket fell on her body.

He paused for a second to see if anything happened. His chanting was ignored as Kat slowly opened a bleary eye to look at him. "You… you looked cold," he whispered nervously and she moaned, snuggling further into her small cocoon.

"Thanks," she mumbled before closing her eyes again. Roger hovered over her until her breath evened out and he was sure that any movement on his behalf wouldn't stir her. He'd been with Mimi for the night, but from what he heard from Mark, Kat hadn't gotten much sleep at all.

"Roger?"

Mimi's voice broke through the calm of the loft and Roger quickly whirled around, with his finger on his lips. "Shh!" he whispered harshly and Mimi stepped back into Mark's chest, surprised,

"What's with him?" Roger could hear her whisper and Mark smirked at him,

"Girl troubles," he answered.

Roger glared at him, "You want Kat to wake up?" he asked, gesturing to the couch.

"So you did finally give her the blanket," Mark commented, stepping out from behind Mimi who was watching the exchange with interest. He headed to the kitchen and Roger regarded him suspiciously,

"What are you doing?"

Mark stopped in front of the badly worn and torn shelving unit. "People are coming over for dinner Roger," he explained slowly, "We need to make some kind of sustenance for them."

"No," Roger shook his head, taking a step towards Mark, "No way. You'll make too much noise. Go pick up food from the Life or something like we've been doing."

"Like we can afford that." Mark took a pan off the shelf and turned around to see Roger a couple feet closer. "Roger," he said, a hint of exasperation in his voice, backing away slightly as Roger continued his advance, "You can't stop me from cooking-"

"Watch me!" Roger almost jumped on Mark as he tried to wrestle the pan away as quietly as he could.

"Hey Crackers!" Collins voice bellowed into the loft and Roger paused his assault on Mark to turn around and hiss,

"Fuck!" After casting a fearful look at Kat, who shifted but didn't wake up, he said, "Shut the fuck up Collins!" in an odd half whisper half shout. Collins was hugging Mimi and looked over her shoulder to Mark for an explanation.

"Roger's scared that someone's going to wake Kitty up," he explained dryly, picking up the random junk that had fallen off the shelf during his and Rogers scuffle. "Apparently we can't do anything."

"He's being kind of weird about it too," Mimi added playfully, releasing Collins with a giggle.

Collins spotted Kat curled on the couch and said quietly, "But I brought the plywood!" He tugged on the corner of a full four by eight of flat wood and it scrapped against the ground, causing everyone in the room to wince.

"Fuck. Bought it or stole it," Roger muttered under his breath.

Collins shrugged, beginning to pull the wood toward the one actual bedroom that existed in the loft, "Does it really matter? Help me get this in there, asshole."

Roger looked conflicted between helping lessen the noise Collins was making dragging the plywood alone and leaving Mark to bang around unattended in the kitchen. "Mimi, watch him," he snapped after a second, crossing the loft quickly to life the plywood up.

"Is he alright?' Mimi asked softly, wandering into the kitchen and worrying about the sanity of her boyfriend.

Mark pulled out the other two pans they owned and shrugged, "He's worried that Kitty's going to wake up."

"I figured that much," Mimi said, sitting down at the table and turning so she could watch the girl on the couch. "Is she okay?"

Mark looked over at the couch as well, considering Mimi's question. "Yeah," he answered, turning away to plug in the hot plate, "She's doing all right."

"Are you doing okay?"

Mark paused his cooking preparation activities, holding a pot with one hand and the fridge door with the other. "What?"

"Are you doing okay?" Mimi repeated, her gaze now on Mark. She knew she was messed up, but she also knew she wasn't messed up enough to imagine Mark's reaction. He was uncomfortable with the question, almost… surprised by it, when he should have been able to answer it if not easily at least at all.

"I uh..." Roger had asked him before, twice. Joanne had asked him and Collins had asked yesterday while they discussed fixing the bedroom under the Perch. Now Mimi was asking him. But was he okay? He shrugged again, squirming under Mimi's watchful eyes. He ducked behind the fridge to hide from them while he said, "It's her I'm worried about."

"I know." Mark shifted aside some milk, reaching for the carrots, praying that Mimi would let up. Because he didn't know the answer to her question. "But-"

He wasn't sure if he winced at the 'but' or the hysterical cry of "MARKIE!?"; he could almost picture Roger's reaction to the noise in the other room. Several things happened in the time it took him to remove his head from the depths of the fridge.

Maureen screeched, "Mimi?!" while Mimi reciprocated with a,

"MO!"

There was a thud as he heard, "Oh Meems, how are you?" accompanied by two squeals; it was very possible that they were spinning one another around. If anyone could come close to matching Maureen's excitement, it was usually Mimi.

At the same time he heard Collins yell, "I'm going to go see if I can find any more wood on the roof!"

A dry, exasperated, "Honey Bear," came from who could only be Joanne and he felt Roger storming into the room, hissing,

"Maureen, shut the fuck up!"

Hands on some carrots, sauce and lettuce, Mark finally pulled out of the fridge and saw the picture that matched the audio he'd been hearing.

Roger was beside Joanne, glaring at Maureen, who was standing beside Mimi, whose arms were wrapped around Maureen waist.

"Don't be a dick," Mimi said, glaring at Roger.

No one noticed Kat opening her eyes until Mark interrupted the shouting that had ensued Mimi's comment. "Guys!" he yelled, holding a pot in one hand and a large spoon in the other. Surprisingly they all stopped to look at him. "Uh," he stuttered. Usually it took a lot more than this to get everyone to chill. "Kitty's already awake," he pointed out calmly, "So just stop it, okay?"

Four heads turned simultaneously to the couch where Kat was hugging her blanket, puzzled. "Uncle Mark?" she called timidly, seeming a lot younger at that moment than Mark thought was possible.

He abandoned the pan and spoon, pushing through the crowd of people in front of her. "Hey Kitty," he smiled, sitting down next to her. "We're having people over for dinner, remember?" She nodded, glancing at Roger, who she knew, and Mimi, who she'd seen once before. Her eyes lingered on Joanne, who she'd never met, before hardening on Maureen.

Mark noticed the pause on Joanne. "I don't think you've met Joanne before. She's a lawyer," he introduced and Joanne offered a half wave and a smile which Kat didn't return. "And that's Maureen. You've… met," he said delicately. The last time Maureen had been around the loft wasn't something you really talked about.

Maureen took a couple steps forward and knelt when she was in front of Kat. "Honey," she started, putting her hands on Kat's legs and Mark tried to interrupt what he knew was coming,

"Maureen, I don't think it's a good-"

"I'm so, sorry, to hear about your family."

There was absolute silence after her comment and it seemed like the whole building paused to see Kat's reaction. The confusion dropped off Kat's face, replaced by pain and hollow sadness. It didn't last long because after a moment Kat threw the blanket off her along with Maureen's hands.

"I'm not a fucking twelve year old lady," she growled, more hatred and contempt in her voice than Mark had ever heard her express before. Had ever heard anyone express before. She shot off the couch, pushing past Roger and Mimi and out the door.

Everyone watched her go in a stunned stupor. Mark was thankful when they heard her feet climb up the stairs and slam the door to the roof shut. At least now he knew where she was and that she would be safe.

"Should someone…" Roger broke the silence, trailing off.

Mark shook his head, "Collins is up there. He'll take care of her. Maureen-"

"No," Maureen muttered, her eyes downcast and teary, "No, it's my fault. I shouldn't have… I'm sorry Mark," she whispered.

Joanne came forward and pulled Maureen onto the couch with her, rubbing her back and consoling her. Mark stood up and walked to the window, staring out of it and wishing the swirling white snow would tell him what to do. Create a picture or spell out a word or two; tell him how to solve the problems of the people around him.

He didn't understand how it was possible for people to be able to hurt so much- to cry for so long.

And worst of all, he didn't know how to make it better.

- - - - -

Kat flung the door open, pushing it as hard as she could. The resulting crash was immensely satisfying but she swore when the door ricocheted off its hinges and caught her shoulder. There was a cough from the other side of the roof and suddenly everything she had done washed over her.

The yelling.

The swearing.

The storming off in a huff.

There was another cough and Kat turned around, wiping the wet from her cheeks, relieved to see the comforting form of Collins among the white. "Are you okay Collins?" she called out hesitantly, connecting him with the coughing. She wondered if he'd heard what she'd said and done.

Collins looked up and his face registered surprised, and a little bit of worry. "I'm fine Kitty," he said with an easy smile. The smile turned into a frown and Kat looked down at the ground, afraid he was disappointed with her. "Shit girl, you out here without a coat?" he demanded, crossing the roof.

Kat shrugged, relieved that he hadn't asked yet why she was up here instead of downstairs with Mark. "Collins, it's alright, I'm not cold-" she protested when he took off his coat and wrapped it around her shoulders,

"Bullshit you aren't. You're going to keep that on till we get back inside, got it?" he asked sternly.

"Okay," Kat conceded. January in New York was pretty cold anyways, and the falling snow wasn't making matters any better. "Thank you. Are you-"

"I'm fine," Collins reassured.

"But you were coughing," she pointed out.

"Don't worry about it Kitty," Collins said firmly. Kat was thrown off by his tone so she nodded, shuffling to the tower and leaning against the ladder. "You alright Kitty?" Collins asked, following her and for the first time noticing her dejected mood. Kat didn't answer him so he said her name again.

"I think I hurt someone's feelings," Kat admitted softly, sliding down the ladder and sitting against it with her legs curled into her chest. She rested her chin on her knee, blinking back tears.

"Oh?" Collins sat down beside her, nudging her over so he had something to lean against too. She leaned into him,

"This lady… she… I kind of yelled at her," Kat admitted miserably. The anger she felt at that moment scared her and the look on the lady's face made her feel guilty to no end.

"So there was a lady," Collins said slowly when Kat didn't offer anything more. "And she said something," Kat nodded once, "And you yelled at her."

"Yeah." Kat whispered, staring at nothing at all.

Collins watched her face for a second before turning away and mimicking her gaze. "You can yell at people?" he asked, trying to get her to smile.

"Collins-"

There weren't going to be any smiles right now. There had been close moments before, where her lips twitched and she was almost there, but he had yet to see a true, genuine smile. He was pretty sure Mark hadn't even seen one yet.

"Why did you yell at her?" he asked seriously.

Kat paused for a moment, trying to figure out if she had been angry with the lady, or angry with herself. Where anger like that had come from when right now all she felt was the dull ache of her chest. "Because…" she started slowly, unsure where her thoughts were and even more unsure of what she was trying to get across. "She was… no one talks about it. And, and it's better that way. But she-"

"She said that she was sorry about your family," Collins finished for her and Kat closed her eyes tightly, drawing in a deep breath, willing the image of her family not to cover the blackness in front of her. Collins put his arm around her and pulled her into him, resting his chin on her head and she focused on his presence, focusing on him instead of them.

"And I yelled at her," Kat muttered into Collins' sweater vest, wrapping her arms around him. She didn't know why she'd yelled at the lady. Why she was so upset and angry with the innocent comment. "Swore too, I think."

"Oh."

Mark's face flashed in her minds eye, getting uncomfortable close to who she considered as family. "I think I upset Uncle Mark too," she whispered, grabbing a fistful of fabric and holding onto it tightly. What would Mark think of her now?

"I'm sure he understands," Collins muttered soothingly.

"But what if he doesn't?"

"Hey," Collins pulled her away for a second. He thought that her fears of being abandoned had been quelled. "Kitty, don't get into that again. Mark loves you and he doesn't want you to go anywhere, damnit. If he is upset you two will just have to work it out."

Kat looked down, "But I was rude to his friend."

"Who exactly did you yell at?"

"It wasn't really yelling," Kat realized. "I… I've just never been that angry with someone else. Her voice woke me up. She came to the loft. Two days ago too. It didn't seem like she cared about me then and… now… the change just pissed me off."

"Was her name Maureen?" Collins asked gently, knowing that the drama queen could at times be… quite dramatic. He could see her blowing Kat off initially and then suffocating her with condolences after remembering what the girl had been through.

Kat was nodding, "Is she you're friend too?" she asked nervously.

"One of my best," Collins answered honestly.

Kat pulled away from him and hunched up again, scared of disappointment. "I'm sorry."

"Hey, Kitty." Collins reached out for her and pulled her back to him, "Don't apologize to me. People make mistakes. Maureen should have known better, and you've been going through a lot lately." He wanted to make it clear that Kat wasn't the only one at fault. "She's a real great friend once you get to know her," he added.

"I feel bad. I… I don't think I was angry with her."

"Then who were you angry with?" Collins asked, a little confused.

"I think maybe… maybe, she said that and… for a moment…" It was taking a long time for Kat to get her thoughts out, but Collins didn't press her. "For a second… I think I realized that I… I miss them, and up until that point it… it wasn't hurting as much as it usually does."

Kat looked up at him, begging to be understood; begging for some sort of comfort from him, pleading for some kind of solace, pleading him to convince her she wasn't an awful person. But Collins didn't really understand why she felt so horrible in the first place. "It's okay to miss them sometimes Kitty," he said, "No one's expecting you to forget them."

"I know."

The way she said it told Collins what he was looking for. Suddenly able to understand he held her tighter, "You're never going to forget them," he said stringently.

"But what if-"

He did his best to dispel her fears, make her understand what he'd learned; "You're going to have good days and bad days Kitty. Having a good day doesn't make you a bad person. It just means you're moving on. And it might sound cold hearted, but it's the natural progression of life. You move forward, because that's what you have to do to survive. Because that's what _they_ would have wanted you to do. On the bad days it might feel like you can't live without them, but you still go on. So just because you have a good day doesn't mean you're forgetting them or don't love them anymore. It just means you had a good day."

"Who did you lose?"

Collins froze, unsure if he'd heard right or not. "What?"

"Who did you lose?" Kat asked a little clearer, a little more somber, and a little more nervous. It wasn't her business but she wanted to know anyway. Wanted to know where his confidence on the subject and where the empathy and understanding came from. If she had a chance to ever become like him and not like the hurting child she was now.

"What makes you think that?" Collins asked carefully.

"You seem to know," Kat said softly. "You seem to understand and…" She didn't finish her sentence.

Collins shivered. The cold was starting to really get to him but he didn't regret giving her his coat. "I told you-" he reminded, pulling her closer, "I know what it feels like to lose what you loved most of all."

Kat nodded. The words had been ringing in her ears since he's said them. "But who was it?" she pressed. Collins turned away from her and she felt guilty again. "I'm sorry. I shouldn't pry." She tried to catch his eye but he wasn't looking at her. He was looking off in the distance. Looking at something only he could see. He didn't even notice the tears that starting coming from her eyes.

"I'm sorry Collins," she whispered desperately, wishing she'd never asked in the first place.

She fell into him and Collins tightened his grip on her. He needed to tell her. To let her know that he knew what he was talking about. That he wasn't just saying all the things he'd said to make her feel better.

"Are you gay Collins?" The question came out of left field, but its randomness pulled his thoughts away from Angel.

"Yes," he said, "Why?"

Kat shrugged, happy that Collins was talking to her again. "I heard you say something to Roger once and I wanted to know if you were joking around or not."

He hadn't heard her thoughts on the issue of gay rights, but somehow he figured that Kat wouldn't mind. She didn't seem like the type to judge based on partner preference. But he did want to know, "Does that bother you?"

"No," Kat answered instantly, "Not at all." Collins smiled at the certainty in her voice. Mark's sister hadn't done a half bad job raising the kid. "Is Uncle Mark gay?" she asked and Collins stifled a laugh,

"I don't think Mark even knows the answer to that one," he said, grinning. Mark was a funny one. "But no, I don't think so."

Kat failed to share in his amusement, "Okay."

"Kitty," Collins said. Kat looked up at him the best she could with her head on his chest, noticing the change in his voice and its indication of the exploration of a more serious topic. "How much has Mark told you about us?"

"Who's 'us'?"

"Roger, Mimi, me. What has Mark told you about his friends?" Collins had a feeling that Mark failed to mention that three of his friends were HIV positive. It occurred to him that her seeking confirmation about his sexual orientation and her desire to discover who had died that he loved so, well, it meant she didn't know about Angel. And why Angel was no longer around.

Kat thought for a couple seconds. "Nothing. Other than Roger and Mimi are dating and Roger's been his roommate for forever… and no one really talked about Uncle Mark at home, much less his friends," Kat explained, her voice catching on the word 'home'.

Collins stood up, pulling Kat up with him, suddenly too cold to stay outside. The warmth he felt when he remembered Angel had started it and now the coldness intensified as he realized that Kat didn't know.

She didn't know that the four of them would eventually succumb to the same disease that his Angel had died from.

That soon, the four of them would be dead just like her family; gone.

Kat didn't know they were dying.

**A/N: So this was going to be a ridiculously long chapter if I didn't split it. The next part of the 11,000 words should be up in two or so days so that no one misses this chapter. That's happened to me before. The next one is a long chapter. A really long one. And I hope I explained everything so no one seemed OOC :)**

**  
Reviews would be nice :)**


	14. January 13th 6:04 pm EST Part 2

**A/N: Continued from the previous chapter. If you've missed it, go back, read it, then read this. **

**I decided to do the A/N here because I strongly felt that this chapter needed to end on the note that it ends, and not an A/N. Following the ending with the A/N kind of ruined the emotion there and I think that it's something that… well, it's true and I didn't want the impact of the last line softened or disregarded in any way. **

**Also, I shelve a couple stories here, because writing with seven characters is ridiculously challenging, and a pain, and I never want to do it again. Although I just might, because that's how smart I am. But if I shouldn't attempt again, tell me, haha. This is monstrously long. Don't be ashamed if you need two sittings to get through it. **

**And next time you watch Rent, note: Roger, the moron, never actually takes his AZT even though it's his beeper that goes off... which may just be a result of Adam Pascal not knowing that it's his beeper going off (how does that happen?), but still. Seriously guy!**

**So please review- this chapter took a lot of effort and revision and emotion on my behalf and I'd like to see how people feel about the issues discussed in it. Really, I do. So please share them with me. And thanks to Glow and Grape for reviewing the last chapter :)  
**

**The Loft**

**January 13****th**** Part Two**

"Roger, take your AZT," Mark called across the loft when he heard the beeper going off.

"You know, Mimi has to take AZT as well. Why the hell don't you yell at Mimi to take her AZT every time her beeper goes off? Why is it always 'Roger, take your AZT' and not 'Mimi and Roger, take your AZT'. I don't-" Mimi shoved a pill into his open mouth,

"It's because I actually take it without being told to baby," she winked, handing him her water. He narrowed his eyes but swallowed and drank the water.

"Besides, do you know how un-poetic 'Mimi and Roger' sounds?" Maureen added, sitting across from Mark on the floor, fanning herself with a couple mismatched playing cards. "Just plain 'Roger, take your AZT' sounds much better."

"Ace of diamonds Maureen," Mark said, looking hopefully at Maureen, who checked her cards and shook her head. He sighed and took a card out of the middle.

"Mark, three of spades," Joanne said and Mark grumbled,

"I hate this game," as he handed over the card he'd just picked up.

Maureen laughed, crossing her legs, "You don't hate this game, you just hate losing. Mark, thirteen hearts?"

Mark and Joanne exchanged a look. "I'll go," Joanne offered. "Honey Bear," she said patiently, "A deck of cards only goes up to ten."

"I know that. But the card says thirteen hearts," Maureen insisted.

"Maureen-"

Maureen huffed and pulled the card out of her hand, slamming it down on the ground. "Thirteen fucking hearts!" she announced and Mark looked at the card.

It was made of a couple thin cardboard pieces tapped together and had thirteen sloppy hearts drawn on it with a red pen, a giant heart encasing the number '13' in the middle. He recognized the card but thought it'd been burnt or lost long ago.

"See," Maureen insisted.

Mark sighed, "Okay, cards Roger's made while he's drunk count as the cards we don't play with. So at the beginning when we said-"

"Fuck cards," Maureen huffed, throwing her remaining cards into the pile between the three of them, "You two have fun playing go fucking fish yourself."

Joanne exchanged another look with Mark as Maureen stood up and stalked over to where Roger and Mimi were talking in the kitchen. "Honey Bear," Joanne called getting up as well. Mark started cleaning up the cards- out of the 52 there were maybe six that matched. Most of them were hand made or taken from decks or had been found under things in the loft. Mark walked over to the gathering in the kitchen, throwing the drunken mistake of a card into the 'stove' along the way.

Joanne was still trying to talk Maureen out of her sulk when he tuned in to the conversation, "Honey, Mark and I don't think you're stupid-"

"Roger's the one who fucking made the card in the first place," Maureen scowled, pointing at Roger who heard his name and looked up, "He's the stupid one."

"Why am I stupid? What did I make?" he asked confused. He had a hand on a pan of noodles that were cooking, which Mimi was stirring from her seat on the counter.

"The thirteen hearts card you made for Valentines Day?" Mark explained, "And then you realized that Valentines Day was on the fourteenth of February and not the thirteenth… no?" he finished timidly. Roger started laughing,

"Dude, you were the one who made that fucking card, not me. It was right after you broke up with Maureen and you wanted to make a pact with me to-"

"Oh!" Mark exclaimed, a fuzzy memory suddenly popping into his head. It cleared a little and he flushed. "That. Right. Well," he could feel himself turning even redder. "Let's not talk about that anymore," he muttered finally.

"No, tell me Mark," Maureen pouted, "I want to know."

Mark turned away, "No you don't. You really don't."

"Maybe she does," Roger teased and he turned back to glare at him,

"You say anything," he warned and Roger just laughed. The door opened and everyone turned to look who it was. Collins had his arm around Kat's small shoulders, his long coat hanging to her feet.

"Hey Kitty," Mark smiled cautiously. Kat ignored him, and with a nudge from Collins she headed to Maureen. Mark moved so that he was closer to them, a little worried of what might come. Collins nodded at him, which gave him a little more peace of mind, but he stayed where he was.

Kat nervously approached Maureen, her head down and Collins large coat making her seem even smaller. "Hi," she whispered, looked up for a split second to meet Maureen's eyes. "Um, Maureen? I'm sorry I swore at you," she apologized, "I'm just a little-"

"I'd be emotional too," Maureen interrupted gently, "It's alright, really. I shouldn't have-"

"But I still didn't have to-"

"You were-"

"I wasn't upset at-"

"I know you weren't taking it out on me. I provoked you so-"

"Are you-"

"Positive."

"If you're-"

"I'm sure Kat," Maureen smiled. Kat bit her lip and nodded once. "You wanna-" Maureen offered and Kat shrugged,

"Okay." She returned Collins coat and sat down on the end of the couch, pulling the abandoned blanket around her body, distancing herself physically and emotionally from the others.

Roger leaned over to Mark in the kitchen, who had been watching the partial conversation with just as much awe. "What the hell just happened?" he whispered, softly and Mark couldn't pull his eyes away from the scene that had just unfolded. "Mark?"

"I… don't really know…"

"Baby, I think the noodles are burning," Mimi said a little uneasily, glancing into the pot.

"Shit," Roger whispered, turning away to rescue the noodles in question. He turned down the heat on the hot plate, grabbed a towel and used it to lift up the metal pan so the water would cool. They'd prepared a small collection of dinner food while Kat and Collins had been on the roof; dinner wasn't shaping up to be the shabby meal Roger had envisioned when Collins proposed having everyone over. He let his focus wander over to the couch, where Maureen and Kat had exchanged half a conversation and apparently understood one another.

He, on the other hand, could listen to Maureen talking for an hour and still have no idea what she was trying to say.

"Roger watch out, you're going to-"

Mimi's voice brought him out of his day dream a second too late. He swore loudly as the handle of the pan tipped upwards and into his arm. He tried desperately not to drop the pot and managed to get it to land on the hot plate before he hopped back and started waving the injured appendage in the air. "Fuck damnit!" he yelled, letting out a stream of profanities that attracted the attention of everyone in the loft.

"Roger, are you-"

"Fucking noodles are ready," he growled, cutting Mimi off and accepting the wet cloth that a laughing Mark offered him.

Mark took the pan and used a plate to strain the water from it. "Roger's managed to burn himself on the only hot thing we'll be serving-" he called into the greater room,

"So that must mean that dinner's ready," Collins finished with a grin. He pulled Kat's reluctant body up from the couch and led her over to the table, "Food time!"

"What are we eating?" Maureen wanted to know.

Joanne following closely behind her, "Does it really matter Honey Bear?" Maureen would probably be eating off her plate, if not everyone else's as well, by the end of dinner anyways.

Mark took the pan of noodles and carefully set it on the table as everyone pulled up chairs and milk crates to take a seat, "We've got noodles, we've got sauce, we've got a... some sort of salad, we've got meatless balls,"

"Ew," Roger whispered and Mimi hit him,

"Bread, beer and juice, uh-"

"Mark, I think we can identify the foods ourselves," Collins pointed out and Mark blushed,

"I know, I just… Uh, yeah. Okay. Dig in," he grinned nervously, sitting down and pulling the salad towards him.

"Why are we eating at the table anyways?" Maureen asked suddenly, declining the noodles Joanne offered her, instead reaching for the salad.

Mark blushed, "I, uh, well…"

"You cold Kitty?" Collins asked after swallowing a mouthful, noticing that the girl was trying to hide her shivers and saving Mark from answering the obvious. Everyone turned to see Kat's response and she glanced at Mark a little uneasily,

"Just a little," she muttered. Collins pulled his discarded coat back around her and she smiled, "Thanks."

"You know Mark, you should really fix that hole in the roof. It would probably save you a little of the heating bill," Joanne suggested and Mark nodded,

"Yeah, but what would I fix it with?"

Joanne thought for a second. "It would probably work better if you put the tarp on the outside. Less snow and water would get in too."

Mark pointed at the garbage can shoved to the side of the room, "But then every time someone wanted to light the stove to use it we would have to go up there and take it off. And we all know what happens when we light a fire without somewhere for the smoke to escape."

Mark, Maureen and Collins all turned to glare at Roger. It took him a second to realize that they were looking at him and he ignored his noodles for a second, "Why is everyone suddenly looking at me?" he demanded through a mouthful of food. "It was Collins' idea!"

"You're the one who wouldn't stop bitching about the cold," Mark pointed out,

"And the one who refused to open the fire escape window," Maureen added.

Kat, who had been staring at the plate Collins was filling with food, looked up. "Wait, why is there a hole in the roof?"

"Uh…" Mark glanced around at the table, wondering whether or not to tell her the whole story. And whether or not it was really worth telling. He settled on, "The short story is that Roger sucks at ping-pong."

"So do you!" Roger shot back.

Mark laughed at his indignation, "Not nearly as much as you though."

"What's the long story?" Kat asked quietly and Mark sighed,

"I'll tell you another time Kitty. It's… a really long story. And really annoying to tell when Roger's around."

"Only because all the stories you tell are long and you don't tell it properly so I have to interrupt," Roger commented snidely and Mimi hit him again,

"But I'm curious too."

"Okay, you," he caught Mimi's wrist playfully as she prepared to smack him again, "Stop hitting me. And we're so done with this subject now," he announced, kissing Mimi's hand before releasing it and pouring a drink for the both of them.

"But-"

"How's the teaching gig going Collins?" Roger asked, cutting Mimi's protest off and shoving a cup of water at her.

Collins looked at Roger strangely, "I don't have a teaching gig…"

Roger tried to stammer out an excuse and Mark scoffed, "Roger, you suck at changing subjects."

"Well you suck at keeping secrets," Roger retorted.

"Which reminds me- Mark, can I talk to you for a second?" Collins asked, indicating the door. Mark didn't seem to catch his subtle gesture,

"Yeah, why?" he asked, confused. Weren't they already talking?

"Like, outside or something?" Collins specified and Mark's eyes widened.

"Oh, okay. Sure… excuse us," Mark muttered, pushing his chair out and following Collins out the loft door. There was an explosion of laughter and Mark looked back to see if Kat had joined in it, but she was sitting in her chair, slumped back and watching him. He smiled at her quickly, realizing he'd been caught, and shut the door.

"Mark, you have to tell her," Collins said in his 'this-is-probably-something-you're-going-to-want-to-trust-me-on' voice and Mark was lost.

"Wait, what?" He knew that Collins meant talking to Kat, but tell her what?

"About Roger, Mimi and me," Collins elaborated but Mark still didn't quite understand what he was trying to say.

"What about you guys?" he asked, feeling just a little dim.

"You have to tell her that we all have HIV," Collins said softly, "She doesn't know yet."

Realization dawned on Mark. It never occurred to him that Kat might not have known that some of his friends had HIV. "Why… would I tell her that?" he asked nervously. It wasn't really something you went around broadcasting.

"Mark, use your head." He was missing something obvious and Collins wasn't letting him forget it.

"We're going to die, Mark," Collins said finally and Mark winced. He tried not to think about that too much. "We're going to die just like her family did. You can't keep something like that from her. It's not right."

"If she finds out…" he was afraid that knowledge like that would destroy her. Destroy whatever progress she'd made. She'd come here to get away from death, not to be surrounded by it. "Look, she likes you. What do you think will happen when she finds out that you're going… like her family? She's still really hurting… what'll happen if she knows you're going to… leave her?"

"She'll deal with it Mark," Collins said, much more certain of the fact than Mark could ever be. "She'll deal with it like you're dealing with it."

Mark turned away from him. "Who… who says I'm dealing with anything Collins?" he asked softly.

Collins didn't say anything. He'd said that in the heat of the moment, but had he ever heard Mark actually say that he was dealing with it? Or even talk about it? There was no way that Mark was okay with what was happening… but had he made peace with it? Or was he just… hiding from reality? Come to think of it, why was this just occurring to him now? Why had he never noticed it before? "Mark…"

"Tom, I don't want you to tell her," he said delicately, still not looking at him. "I'll tell her but… not now. Not yet. Not so soon after… please," he pleaded. "Just do this for me. Promise you won't tell her."

He understood where Mark was coming from, he really did. But he also knew that something this big had the potential to break a relationship. And he knew that he wouldn't be able to lie to Kat. If she point blank asked him, he wouldn't be able to tell her anything but the truth. Even if it made her hate him. "I'm not going to go out of my way to hide it from her Mark. I'm not going to lie to her. If she asks me I'm going to tell her the truth," he offered as a compromise.

Mark looked up at him, "Promise me you won't tell her."

"I can't."

"Tom…" Collins walked away from him and opened up the door. "Fuck," Mark whispered under his breath. Sometimes Collins was the most infuriating person in the world, because he would do stuff like that and you would feel guilty for being mad at him. Feel guilty for being mad at his moral compass. Mark followed him through the door after a second, just in time to hear Collins ask,

"Roger, you take your AZT?"

Roger looked up surprised, "Yeah, why?"

"Tom," Mark warned and Collins turned around,

"Mark."

"What the hell happened?" Roger asked, sensing the tension.

Mark glanced over at Kat, who was rolling her food around on her plate and not paying the slightest attention to the conversation around her. "Nothing happened," he answered, glaring at Collins.

"It's not nothing Mark," Collins pressed and Mark sat down at the table, willing himself not to curl up into a ball and ignore everything so he wouldn't have to deal with it just then.

"Collins, please."

Collins sat down across from him, and glanced at Kat. He noticed her lack of digestive activity and nudged her. "Hey, Kitty, you not hungry?" he asked.

"What?" She looked up, and then looked back down at her food, "Oh, sorry. No, I'm fine."

"When was the last time you ate girl?" Collins demanded and Kat shrugged,

"Uh, I don't know. Probably…"

"Eat something Kitty," Collins ordered gently.

"But I'm not- …" Kat started to protest but Collins speared a meatless ball with her fork and lifted it up to her mouth. She gave him a dry look before taking the fork from him. "Fine," she muttered angrily, stuffing the ball into her mouth.

"So Mark," Joanne said, also not completely oblivious to the obvious tension, "Did the schools principle call you?"

Mark was glad for the change of subject, "Yeah, yesterday. Kitty and I will be going in on Monday to get her registered and started with her classes."

Roger was surprised. "Tomorrow? So soon?"

"I know," Mark said, knowing what Roger was thinking, "But we talked about it yesterday and we decided that it was what was best."

"It'll… give me something else to think about," Kat added quietly.

Collins exchanged a dark look with Mark, who got ready to interrupt the conversation if anything got too close to home. But Collins asked, "You a senior?" while filling her fork for her once again.

Kat took the fork gloomily, "Junior. But I'll only have half a semester of senior year next year and I'll have enough credits to get my diploma. And then…" she trailed off, closing her eyes tightly. Mark knew she was trying her best not to cry and was proud of her when she opened them again. He could see the change though, and heard it when she said, "Well, I'll probably take the SAT's."

"What are you going to do after that?" Mimi asked curiously, her side conversation with Maureen forgotten.

"I don't know," Kat shrugged and Mark knew something was said that triggered the sudden reclusion.

"What kind of subjects do you like?" Maureen asked, wanting to get in on the chatter as well.

Kat shrugged again, a little uneasy with all the attention on her, "I don't know."

"Are you taking drama?" Maureen didn't pause for an answer, "I loved drama when I was in school. They had a musical theatre course at my school and I got the lead in almost every single musical they did," she boasted.

Mark rolled her eyes, "Maureen-" He was going to say that it wasn't maybe the greatest idea to show off but Maureen didn't let him finish.

"What?" she demanded, still a little angry with him from the card debacle. She addressed Kat, "You-"

"I guess so," Kat answered, knowing that Maureen was going to ask if she liked drama.

Mimi, not entirely understanding what Kat guessed so, asked, "So are you taking a drama course?"

"Uh…" Kat honestly had no idea what courses she'd be taking. She hadn't been in the best frame of mind during, before or after the phone call so she'd let Mark once again handle all the details.

"There's a technical theatre course she's in, and an Art course," Mark answered, and Kat glanced up, wondering how much he knew about her old life, "Along with the usual cores- History, Trig, English, that kind of stuff."

"Are you taking Chemistry?" Roger questioned bitterly and Kat gave him a look. "My Chemistry teacher was a fucking moron," he explained.

Mark rolled his eyes; "Not everyone gets your lame jokes Roger."

"What the hell isn't funny about 'Eh, you, what's up?'"

Mimi turned on her boyfriend, "What the fuck?"

"The _joke_," Roger stressed, "Is, 'Silver and a Canadian are sitting in a bar and Gold walks in and the Canadian says, eh, you, what's up? … the chemical name for Gold is Au… never mind," he finished miserably. Everyone laughed at him and Mimi patted him on the head, sitting down on his lap.

Mark looked around the table, noticing the empty plates and glasses. "Roger," he said, getting up and gathering as many dirty dishes as he could carry, "Why don't you come help me take the dishes?"

"You can't take them yourself?" Roger asked, pulling out of a kiss with Mimi.

"Roger."

His suggestive tone was enough for Roger to read between the lines. "Oh! Okay. Sure. This is for you," he said, kissing Mimi on the nose before lifting her up and placing her back on the chair sans his body, "This is for me," he grabbed the empty plates immediately around them. He stopped at Collins, who looked up at him with a grin. "Sorry Collins, you don't get one of those," he said, referring to the kiss, "Unless, of course…" he winked and Collins pushed him away,

"Thank the Jesus; I'm more than alright with that," Collins reassured. Mark saw Kat almost crack a smile and knew it wouldn't be very long until they could get her to laugh.

"You done Kitty?" Roger asked, moving on.

Kat nodded, "Yeah. Thanks."

Roger reached for her plate but in the process knocked over her almost full cup of water. She tried to slide the chair back but the water caught her pants, splashing the front of them. Roger cursed his luck, unsure if he should try to dry it or just stay away before he caused any more damage. "Sorry Kat. I'm so sorry, I didn't mean to- I should have been watching-"

Collins stood up and pushed Roger gently aside, pulling Kat up from the chair, "Let's migrate over to the couch before Roger can spill any more shit on you," he suggested and Kat followed him while Roger whined,

"I didn't mean to!"

"Mhmm," Collins nodded, sitting Kat on the couch and landing himself down beside her, "Sure you didn't."

"Thomas!"

Everyone laughed while Roger stood, his arms full of plates and cups, looking desperately at the couch.

"Roger," Mark called and Roger whirled around,

"What. Oh, what? What?" Mark didn't respond and after a moment Roger remembered he was supposed to be helping with the dishes. He walked over and deposited everything in the sink while Mark started running the water.

"You okay man?" Roger noticed Mark's forlorn manner.

"Kat doesn't know that you're HIV positive," Mark muttered, keeping his voice quiet so that no one other than Roger would be able to hear him.

Unfortunately, it was a little too quiet for Roger to understand. "What?"

Mark met Collins' disapproving gaze before turning his back to the open room, "She doesn't know that… that you, Mimi and Collins are HIV positive."

Nope, Roger thought, definitely heard him right the first time. But he didn't really understand why it was being brought up. He glanced at the couch, where Maureen was on Collins' lap, trying to get his beanie off, Kat watching them interact almost wistfully. "Is that… important for some reason?" he asked.

"Think Roger," Mark said, getting his hands wet and understanding Collins' exasperation with him earlier. Once he figured it out he wondered how he could've missed its importance before. And even though he was having doubts about asking Collins to withhold it from her, he was still convinced it would be better that way.

Roger watched Kat carefully as Collins started wrestling with Maureen, the both of them falling off the couch and beginning to roll around on the ground. "Oh!" he exclaimed, and Mark dropped the plate he was scrubbing.

"You two okay?" Joanne asked, getting ready to come over but Mark shook his head at her and Roger nodded,

"Yeah, we're fine."

"POOKIE!"

Joanne attention was officially shifted and Roger let out a softer, "Oh. She doesn't know that-"

Mark grimaced, "Yeah. I didn't know that she didn't- doesn't know, but Collins figured it out and-"

"You want to be the one to tell her," Roger concluded, leaning against the counter and mulling over his options.

"Yeah. Is that okay?"

He hesitated a little before giving his permission, knowing that Mark would have it no matter what. These types of things weren't his forte, and goodness knew he waited long enough to tell Mimi about his condition. It worked out for the better for them, and this was the same thing, wasn't it? He was afraid to tell Mimi because he didn't know how she would react and this situation was Mark's equivalence to that one, wasn't it? And if he had waited on it, wasn't it only fair to give Mark peace of mind for waiting on it too?

Mark stopped washing dishes to look at him and Roger snapped out of it with a half-grin. "Well, she seems to hate me enough already."

"Roger-"

"Yeah," Roger said before Mark could say anything about how they just needed more time or something. "Go for it man. Just…"

"You want to be there when I do?" Mark guessed.

"If it's, uh, convenient or whatever," Roger said quickly. When Mark did finally decide to disclose their condition he didn't want be the reason for delaying it.

"Of course," Mark assured and the look in his eyes told Roger that he would make sure it would happen. "Could you maybe talk to Mimi and-"

"Yeah." There was a pause and Mark suddenly remembered thinking about what a Safe word 'yeah' was. And it was coming back now. He knew that it was hard for Roger to leave the ball in his court, but he wouldn't have to worry about anything. "I'll talk to Mimi and tell her. Just…" Roger unfolded his arms and stood up properly, "Tell me when, okay?"

"Thanks," Mark said, grateful with the way the conversation had ended.

"Albino!" Collins yelled from across the loft and Mark dropped another plate into the sink accidently. "Get your pasty white chicken ass over here!"

Roger started laughing and Mark gave him a dry look; "You know, it's been such a long time since I've heard on of those ridiculous-"

Roger was pushing him before he could finish his sentence. "Get over it and sit down _Albino_," he teased, pushing Mark to the ground beside Kat's feet. He situated himself next to Mimi, who leaned against him. "What we playing?"

"BULLSHIT!" Maureen yelled and everyone immediately beside her winced.

"Let me guess. It was Maureen's idea."

Roger shared in Mark's playful lack of enthusiasm, "Who else's would it be?"

Maureen handed the cards to Roger, "Deal the cards Davis. Cohen's just terrified 'cause he knows he has a horrible poker face."

Mark ignored the jib and instead looked up to his niece, "Kitty, you playing?"

"I'm good," she declined softly.

"Come down here," he tugged at her blanket, "You can be on my team."

There was a beat. "That's okay," she said finally, but Mark got the impression that she just needed a little more coaxing.

"But it'll be fair that way," he protested and Mimi thankfully jumped in to help him,

"Yeah. I'm on Roger's team," she explained, "And Maureen and Joanne play together."

"We really need to get new cards," Roger mumbled, wrinkling his nose at the odd assortment. He pulled out one made from the cardboard of what seemed to be a slinky box, marked by what may have been blood and had a blob of a picture on the front; "What the hell is this?"

"Don't ask," Mark sighed, "Just shuffle."

"Why doesn't Collins have a partner?" Kat asked, sliding down off the couch to sit beside Mark and looking over at Collins for an answer.

Roger stopped shuffling and Mark didn't quite know what to say. It was so painfully obvious that she really _didn't know_. Maureen and Joanne exchanged looks and Mimi moved to sit in between Roger's legs, her eyes down. Roger kissed her and whispered something into her ear. Kat, on her behalf, knew that she'd said something wrong from the get-go. "I'm sorry, did I-"

"My partner-" Collins started in a somber tone and Maureen interrupted him before Mark got a chance to, drawing everyone's attention away from the man in question.

"Collins is a lone wolf," she explained. "AWHOOOOO!" she howled.

"Honey Bear, my ear," Joanne muttered disapprovingly, but with a hint of a smile.

Maureen kissed her on the cheek sweetly, "Sorry Pookie."

"So you'll be on my team?" Mark nudged and Kat nodded,

"Sure."

"Oh, Cohen's recruiting a girl!" Maureen pointed out, diving right back into the spirit of the game.

Mark rolled his eyes, "I'll never understand what makes you resort to using my last name."

Roger started dealing out the cards and Maureen thought for a second, "Is that a question?"

"Just a statement," Mark shrugged.

"Well, BULL-A-FUCKING SHIT!" Maureen declared, teetering dangerously before Joanne righted her.

Mark picked up the two cards he'd already been dealt, "Maureen, I haven't started playing yet,"

"But Maureen's sure as hell started drinking," Roger remarked, rubbing his ear with one hand and wrapping the other around Mimi.

"That's what you think Cohen!" Maureen yelled, completely missing Roger's comment.

Mark sighed, "This is going to be a long game…" he whispered to no one and Roger nodded along,

"Hang in there Mark," he smiled, "You'll make it through today."

Hopefully, Mark added silently. Hopefully he'd make it through today.

- - - - -

"For someone who insists that's she's not tired, you sure are tired Kitty," Collins whispered, gently prodding the teenager. Kat moaned and pulled his coat tighter around her body, turning her head away from him, and presumably, the noise he was making.

Mark was beside him and smiled sadly at her, "I'll take her," he said quietly, trying and failing to suppress a yawn.

Collins shook his head, "It's alright Mark. I got her. Go kick Roger off the Perch and get some decent sleep for tonight, alright?"

"Tom-"

"Mark. I'm worried about you, okay? We all are," Collins said, and Mark looked around to see Roger and Mimi staring at them. Their eyes widened when they realized that he was looking at them before they nodded and sheepishly continued to clean up the loft. "Mark, I'm not going to ask you how you're doing, but we can all see that you're exhausted. Let's just let things be for tonight;" it was Collins' way of offering a truce. "I'll stay with her tonight and make sure everything's okay."

"But-" Mark started to protest. He had been beside her since the night in the hospital when he fell asleep holding her hand, and he wasn't sure if he would be able leave her. Leave her alone and trust her to someone else.

"You said yourself that she likes me," Collins reminded, making sure to keep his voice low so that Kat wouldn't hear, "I'll take care of her, I promise."

Collins was right, and if he trusted anyone with the well-being of Kat, it would be him. "But if she needs-"

"I promise I won't hesitate in the least to get you if she wants you Mark. It's okay to let her go."

"I know, but…" Mark muttered. It took all his effort to turn away, all the while feeling something he wasn't sure how to describe. "You'll get me?" he asked,

"Go," Collins urged and Mark finally caved, backing away. "I'll stay with her, don't worry," Collins said when Mark's step faltered. Mark sighed and headed towards the Perch side of the loft.

Collins made sure that Mark was well on his way to changing before crouching by the couch. "Hey Kitty," he whispered in a slightly sing-song voice, "Kitty- come'on, you're going to have kinks if you sleep on the couch." He shook her a little and she opened her eyes,

"Collins?"

"That's right Kitty-Kat." She groaned and made half an effort to get up before Collins sighed. "Come'er," he whispered, sliding his arms around her back and under her knees, lifting her up. She wrapped her arms around his neck and buried her face in her chest. He was grateful that she was so small and he was having a good day as he carried her to her bedroom. When he laid her down on the bed he was surprised to find that his shirt was wet.

"You okay Kitty?" he asked, kneeling on the floor, finding the source of the wetness to be her tears.

"I'm sorry," she whispered, shaking as she tried to breathe through her clogged nose, "I'm sorry."

"Hey," he muttered, pushing her long hair off her face and cupping her cheek, "It's alright. Hey now, don't cry."

"I'm sorry," she repeated, latching onto his hand, "I'm so sorry."

"Kitty," he said, waiting until she looked at him with glassy eyes.

"Angel." His voice caught on the name and he sent a silent acknowledgement towards heaven. "His name was Angel. He died, and that's why I don't have a partner for cards," he explained softly.

"Did… did you love him?" Kat asked hesitantly, tears shaken free from the little grove they'd been collecting in by a shudder, crossing the bridge of her nose and falling down the other side into her pillow.

"I did," Collins confirmed without a moments pause. Oh, how he loved him. "I still do," he admitted.

"M-Maya," Kat managed to whisper before her composure shattered.

Collins held the hand that had latched onto his and kissed it, wishing he could take the pain away, and wondering why it had to hurt so much. After watching her for a minute or two he gently moved her aside and crawled into bed with her, wished he'd just left her on the couch. Left her alone so she wouldn't have had to go through this.

He gathered her up as best he could, her convulsing, shaking body reminding him too much of Angel. The tottering, catching, heaving breathes, the tremors, the pain he could feel her going through- it was all crushingly reminiscent of Angel's last days. "Kitty, please," he whispered, feeling his own tears starting to come, "Please, stop. Shh, it'll be okay, just stop, please," he begged.

Kat could hear the change in his voice- the change into one that was still healing after a loss. And it devastated her, knowing that she was the cause of it. He held her, the words having left him.

He hummed a gently beat and rocked it out; doing what he knew had calmed him when he felt lost and alone. It felt like forever before Kat began to quiet down, and he slowed his humming, stopping his movement all together.

"Maya," Kat whispered her voice scratchy, dry and cracking- dying. "Maya, Keith and Ryan. I love them."

"Hey," Collins whispered when she started shaking again, "It's alright. Shh," he muttered, and Kat was comforted by the confidence back in his voice. "Go to sleep now Kitty," he suggested gently, "I'm not going to leave you. You're going to be alright," he promised. Kat was pulled into him close and he moved his arm to allow her, knowing- and wanting- to be there for the night.

"But… when, am I going to be… alright?" she choked.

Collins wondered how many times he could have his heart broken before he died from it. Because it had to be possible to eventually die from this kind of pain. It had to be.

Finally he closed his eyes, held her tight, hating and whispered, "When the good days outweigh the bad, Kitty. When the good outweighs the bad."


	15. January 14th 7:24 am EST

_Warning: Suggestive and Slightly Descriptive Yet Curiously Vague Intimacy _

**The Loft**

**January 14****th**** 7:24 am**

Roger clambered down the ladder, trying desperately not to fall on his face. He didn't understand how Mark could do this every morning, wake up enough to be able to coordinate his body so he didn't accidentally miss a step and-

_Thump. _

"Roger, you fell off the ladder."

Kat was at the table with a bowl of untouched cereal in front of her, watching him with a critical eye.

He growled under his breath and shoved himself up. It was way too early in the morning for this.

There was laughter behind him, "That's what he gets for kicking Mark off the Perch." He turned around and saw Collins standing there with Mark's camera, the little arm gizmo thing that turned, well, turning. He fingered the camera, too lethargic to actually do anything more than that and stomped his way over to the kitchen for his cup of coffee.

"Hey, Roger, you want a copy of this before I mass-produce it and sell it on the street for millions?" Collins called and Roger turned around with his cup, contemplating what would happen if he threw it. He settled on fingering Collins again because he probably wouldn't be able to actually hit him, and well, it was the only coffee mug left. And he needed his coffee.

"Kitty, I don't see you eating," Collins said, warning in his voice as he set down the camera and got his coat from the couch.

Roger turned around just in time to see Kat glaring at him as she lifted up the spoon of cereal to her mouth. He grabbed the mysteriously already-made pot of coffee from the hot plate and moved to the table to sit across from her more out of habit than anything.

"What you doing today Roger?" Collins asked, sitting down next to Kat. He stared at her for a couple seconds before she sighed and took another reluctant bite of cereal.

Roger shrugged, "Dunno."

"Great. Well, I've got an interview for some temporary crap-ass high school gig in forty minutes, and Mark's in the shower."

For a second Roger wondered why he was being told all this, and if he was expected to remember it for some strange reason. Then he realized that Mark and Collins had secretly formed some sort of conspiracy to never leave Kat alone, the responsibility of which, of course, was now being handed unceremoniously over to him. "Wait, what," he said when he realized that Collins was already half-way to the door.

"Eat your food Kitty," Collins said sternly and Kat directed another glare towards Roger and his coffee cup as she grudgingly took another bite.

Roger shifted uncomfortably under the look but when he looked for Collins the man was already gone.

Roger sipped his coffee, cursing his luck.

"So," he said, drawing out the syllable and feeling like a moron. Kat responded with a steady angry stare. Roger flicked his eyes quickly to the bathroom door. Mark was in the shower, Collins had said.

Why was Mark always in the shower during these moments? The awkward silences he seemed to live by with this girl. Wasn't Mark supposed to be the awkward one? Yes, withdrawal and April's suicide had punched a deep hole in his self-esteem, but he used to be the good one.

Mark was the one whose flailing body parts collided with people when he danced. Mark was the one who stuttered when he was nervous or embarrassed. Mark was the one who insisted on shoving a camera in everyone's face, who made loud noises during quiet moments, who broke the silence after life-altering experiences, who dated a lesbian, who still couldn't pick up girls without getting red in the face, who sometimes talked for hours just to make sounds… or maybe he was the only one who understood what he was saying- either way, Mark was the awkward one, not him. Roger was the one who used to bring home the girls- who _had _a girl. Roger was the one who was comfortable.

For a second Kat dropped her gaze down to the cereal in front of her, putting the spoon in her hand down.

Roger noticed her change of focus and the look of disgust on her face. Or was it contempt? He started physically squirming. Usually he could get girls to like him. If he wanted to he could charm girls of any age. It wasn't that he was arrogant or full of himself (anymore, a small voice said), it was just true.

Except for this girl.

Roger Davis had found his match- in a Cohen no less.

It was embarrassing. Especially since, "It's Capt'n Crunch," was all he had to offer her. And of course she knew that already. Because she'd already had a couple bites. Because Collins could make her eat.

She glared at him, eyes still tinged light pink from a tearful night; he knew because he'd woken up from the injured sounds coming from her room and heard the rhythmic humming from Collins that lulled him back to sleep.

Why was it that he was the only one to provoke an emotion other than detached and sad from her? He was the only one who could constantly get her to express something different.

And was it even a good thing?

"I'm not hungry," she muttered angrily. Roger sighed, wondering why Collins was the only one who seemed to be able to get her to eat. Even Mark struggled in that area. He stood up and walked into the kitchen, Kat watching him like a hawk.

She wondered what he was doing and why he insisted on being with her. On watching her while Mark was showering. On staying in the loft with her when there was a perfectly good loft downstairs and he hated her so much. Because that was the only explanation to his behavior so far towards her- that he hated her. Disliked her for some reason that didn't really make sense to anyone but himself. Sure, there was one instance when he'd covered her with a blanket, but Mark must have asked him to or something, she was certain.

Maybe it was because she was taking Mark away from him; invading his comfy life style and tainting it with her presence. Whatever the reason was, she was surprised when he came back with a spoon, sitting down and pulling the bowl towards him.

"If you're not going to eat it I am," he replied to her questioning face, taking a bite. Morning, especially this early in it, did not play nice with his manners, which were questionable to start with.

She leaned back and folded her arms. Where the anger came from was a mystery to her, but she knew that it was there. It wasn't like the anger she felt towards herself before dinner the previous night. It was new and unfamiliar, and this felt refreshing. It felt good to feel something that wasn't based off the pain of loss.

Roger watched her, offering her a spoon after a second, "We can share if you want."

There was no reply and he bent his head down so that it rested on his arm. "Excited for school?" he asked after another bite. The crunching of the cereal in his mouth was just a little too audible for his liking.

"Were you ever excited for school?"

Roger paused mid-chew to think. "For a little while," he said slowly, around his cereal, "I was. I didn't have a lot of good friends to look forward to- none of them were like Mark. But I did like school. And then…" he swallowed, lifting his head back up, "I just kinda found something that I liked more, you know?"

He was surprised when Kat nodded and even more surprised when she picked up the other spoon lying on the table. The action went uncommented on, Roger fearing it would jinx whatever had just happen and Kat not wanting to bring attention to it.

They finished off the bowl together, in complete but distinctly unfamiliar and almost… comfortable silence.

"I can get some more if you want," Roger quickly offered after they'd spooned out the milk but Kat shook her head,

"That's okay."

There was a knock on the door and the water in the bathroom shut off. "I'll get the door and you put it in the sink?" Roger suggested and Kat shrugged, taking the bowl and getting up,

"Whatever."

Roger watched her go. It wasn't that he didn't want to get along with her; he just… had this barrier that he wasn't able to cross with her. And now it felt like they were back at square one.

There was another knock on the door. If door knocks could sound dejected, that's what it sounded like, he decided. He figured that it was Collins, doubling back to get something, so he opened the door saying, "What'd you forget?"

Mimi's small figure stood in the shadow of the door in place of Collins and she glanced up at him before she smiled coyly, "Got a light?"

He was surprised at the déjà vu, but jumped right on the ship, "I know you, you're-" he played along, "You're shivering," he said tenderly, gently running his hand down her cheek.

"It's nothing, I got my man." She wrapped her arms around his neck, standing on her tip-toes to level with his nose, "And he's not too bad to look at, it's gotta be him," she winked, kissing him. They kissed for a couple seconds before Mimi broke away.

"Mimi," Roger whined, pulling her back in and kissing her again. His hands started roaming her body but she stopped them when they started to pull up her shirt. "Mimi," he whined once more, his testosterone getting the best of him. He tried to kiss her again but she turned and he ended up kissing her cheek. "Mimi," he growled this time, catching her in his arms and pushing her against the wall.

Mimi allowed one more kiss before she slipped out of his loose grasp. "Not with company Roger," she whispered as an apology.

"Fuck," Roger muttered, letting his forehead hit the wall with a moan, frustrated with the situation and immensely happy that he was still in his plaid pants. He stayed like that until he felt it was safe to turn around without being embarrassed. "Did you want something, cause if you just came in here to tease me like that and-"

"Shush Roger," she smiled, dropping down on the couch. Roger swallowed. The way she was positioned was making his throat go dry and he knew she was doing it on purpose. She was being sexy on purpose and he was totally falling for it. Damn stripper career.

"We need to get going Kitty!" Mark yelled, coming out of the bathroom and toweling his hair off. There were droplets of water falling on his pullover and Roger stepped in front of him, Mimi forgotten for the moment. Mark stopped short of running into him, "What?"

"Mark, you're not leaving like that," Roger stated, completely prepared to pull out all the stops to keep Mark out of the cold like he'd done before. Mark was a little careless with his own wellbeing when it came to filming, and when it came to his friends it seemed even more so.

"Why not?" Mark asked and Roger felt someone come up behind him. He ignored the person- it was either Mimi, who would understand, or Kat, who hated him either way. "Roger, we're going to be late," Mark said, trying to sidestep the bigger man but Roger held his ground,

"I'm not going to live with Maureen and Joanne again because you were being a fuckwad and got sick. And if you go outside like that you're going to get sick."

"He's right," Kat said from behind him and Roger was surprised that she was backing him up. Then again, it was Mark.

"But we're going to be late," Mark argued. Kat disappeared into her room and Roger glared at him,

"Better late than sick."

Mark looked at him for a moment before scoffing, "You're not worried about my health Roger, you just don't want to deal with Maureen!" He was hoping the truth in the statement would make Roger back off, but Roger just shrugged,

"I know. That's what I said."

Once again Mark tried to get around him but Roger went so far as to physically force him to put the brakes on. "You're really serious about this, aren't you?" Mark asked and Roger nodded,

"Dead serious."

There was a beat and Mark said, "You're an asshole."

Roger smirked and Kat appeared at Mark's shoulder holding a bundle of fabric. "Here's a hat,"

"Oh?"

"I'm going to go get my stuff," she said before disappearing into her room once again.

Mark stared at the hat only slightly nauseous. "I'm not putting this on," he stated critically and Roger folded his arms, laying out the options,

"Either you put that on, you don't go, or I wrap that scarf of yours around that tiny little head so you can never take it off again."

"Uncle Mark, put on the hat so we can go," Kat called, somehow already at the door with her winter jacket on. It was big and looked comfy and practical- unlike many of the coats that were seen on those coming in and out of the loft. Roger hoped she wouldn't get mugged for it.

Mark grudgingly put on the thick hat and Roger couldn't help but laugh at him. "Oh God, that looks awesome Mark," he smirked, "Like a little fucking Eskimo. You're the albino Eskimo again! Let me get the camera!"

"Fuck you Roger," Mark muttered. Roger didn't get that close to the camera because Mark beat him to it, packing it quickly into the bag that'd somehow made its way onto his shoulders.

"Don't forget your coat," Mimi reminded Mark as Roger tried to figure out exactly when the last time he'd seen Mark film something was. The camera had come out for a couple minutes last night, but that was by Maureen's drunken hand, and this morning he'd seen it with Collins, but other than that there was nothing. Then again, he hadn't caught Mark putting the bag around his shoulder just two minutes ago, so maybe he just needed more sleep.

"Uncle Mark, let's go," Kat called with a foreign inflection of impatience from the door and Mark shoved his arms into his coat,

"I'm coming Kitty. You two going to be okay here?" he asked. Roger looked over to Mimi who winked at him .

"How long are you going to be gone?" he asked, now completely focused on Mimi, and Mimi's body, and Mimi's eyes.

Mark watched them with a little trepidation, "Long enough," he said finally, making a face and putting his hands on Kat's shoulders to steer her out the door. Roger heard it close and lock and he was on the couch within seconds,

"Fuck, I never though they'd leave," he muttered, kissing Mimi's neck and collar bone, try to control himself at least moderately. The feel of her body against his was making him uncomfortable and he itched to remove his pants. But then she tensed and he instantly stopped all his advances, taking his weight off her- when the hell had they laid down?- and resting it instead on his elbows.

"You okay Meems?" he asked, slightly out of breath. Then he remembered; "Not that I not all for having sex, but where did you go this morning? You okay?"

Mimi looked at him for a moment and he couldn't tell what she was thinking. What she was trying to tell him. There was something there, something desperate. Something he almost recognized, like one recognized the outline of an artifact covered by a thin layer of sand, just a brush stroke away from being uncovered. Only, he wasn't close enough to brush the sand away. He wasn't close enough to read it.

"Meems?" he asked again. And as much as he hated it, he wouldn't do anything if she wasn't ready. "If you don't want to I can-"

"It's okay Roger," Mimi whispered, her fingers playing with the back of his hair, "I want to baby. I… I want to."

"Are you sure?" Roger whispered, trying desperately to figure out what she was trying to tell him. They'd been doing so well before; they had been able to understand one another. And now…

"I want to," Mimi smiled, reaching up to kiss him, and Roger's concern was pushed back to the back of his mind and Mimi to the front of it.

_I want to…but not for the right reasons._

- - - -

Mimi's breath had evened out a good fifteen minutes ago and Roger disentangled himself from her body as gently as he could. His discarded boxers were at the foot of the couch and he quickly pulled them on, happy that he wouldn't have to hunt the loft for them in broad daylight, something which was always a little awkward when caught. For a second he stood by Mimi's feet, admiring how peaceful she looked.

They'd made it to the bathroom alright, but the bedroom seemed too far away at the time and presently he was happy they hadn't made it. In their haste they didn't even think about the fact that he no longer slept there. So the couch was where the deed was done and the couch was where Mimi was lying now, curled in a loose fetal position, breathing deeply and contently, her arms clutching a pillow in his absence.

He figured Mark wouldn't be back any time soon and so decided against waking her up to get dressed, instead covering her body more securely with the thin blanket on the couch, tucking it around her so that it wouldn't fall off if she moved- she moaned softly and Roger had to resist waking her up with a kiss.

He sat down on the coffee table across from her, enjoying for once the biting cold of the loft against his bare skin. But then the small voice in the back of his head started talking to him and he stood up to go hunting for a sweater for him and a shirt to put on the table for Mimi when she woke up. As he climbed the ladder to sift through the clothing up there, he couldn't help but think that there was something terribly off.

Because if memory served him, they'd fallen asleep together at the end of the night up on the Perch.

And he had woken up to an empty bed that he chalked up to a full bladder on Mimi's behalf.

But Mimi hadn't been in the bathroom, he now realized- she'd left the loft altogether.

Which meant that she'd gone somewhere and didn't want him to know about it.

Which meant that that somewhere probably wasn't good for her…

He pulled on his green sweater. He turned around, watching her with his legs hanging off the edge of the platform. "Mimi…" he whispered as everything fell into place. There could only be one reason for her absence. He climbed down the ladder and placed the t-shirt beside her before pulling on some pants.

Touching her cheek gently, he said, "I'm not going to let you hurt yourself." He kissed her temple softly and left the loft as quietly as he could.

Mimi's loft was the smaller, tidier, much 'prettier' version of Mark's and his. Where their loft walls were either cement or questioned the laws of physics, Mimi's were intact (for the most part) and painted a pretty blue/purple color that Roger daren't describe for fear of citing the wrong shade. While he wouldn't go so far as to say that she had less shit than him and Mark, it was definitely more organized and had less of that all-over-the-place, every-item-shoved-somewhere-for-the-sake-of-convenience quality to it.

Roger looked around, wondering where to start. He knew where he liked to hide his stash, back when he was either lying about being clean or trying make his addiction less conspicuous. He'd hide it away in the depths of his closet, usually, and when he was hiding it from Mark in the midst of withdrawal, between the covers of his Lou Reed vinyl. The paraphernalia was too bulky to put in the vinyl so it stayed in his closet until Mark raided it and chucked the stuff out.

But Mimi didn't live with anyone, and he wasn't sure if she was worried he would raid her apartment. She would want to hide it from him, in any case, but where would it be that he wouldn't look?

He started in the bathroom, systematically checking every place he could. Going through the lining of the trash, behind the toilet, the inside of the toilet tank, behind the mirror cabinet, under the tub, behind the tub, through the drawers and through her feminine products- which left him blushing although no one was around- then finally under the sink, brushing against every nook and cranny he could get his fingers into. The sweep of the bathroom didn't turn anything up, and the small living room seemed too obvious to hide anything.

The motionless beads that covered the entrance to Mimi's door caught his eye, and he headed towards it, feeling slightly guilty. Ever since he was a teenage he hated people going through his shit and for some reason that was translated into an intense dislike for going through other people's crap. The guilt faded away as he remembered why he was doing it- for Mimi he would do anything. He'd gladly go through her stuff and invade her privacy if it meant protecting her.

As he entered the room he realized that there was a part of him that wondered what would happen when and if he found Mimi's stash.

How much he'd want to just fuck it all and take a hit.

Not that he would.

He just… missed it sometimes; craved the feel of the syringe in his hand, the anticipation of ecstasy, the seconds after he injected himself and the nothingness that encased his body just before the elating blaze took over and he was riding the tidal wave.

Kat's sad face flashed in his eyes and he abruptly stepped back, causing the beads to clatter loudly against each other, pulling him out of his nightmare of a daydream.

He knew he wouldn't. No, he _knew_ he wouldn't.

But he couldn't keep himself from thinking so he glanced around the room just in case Mimi had been careless enough to leave it out in the open, and, upon seeing nothing, headed over to the dresser. He checked the underwear drawer first, figuring that the longer he looked the more likely he was going to get caught. And looking through Mimi's underwear and bras was something he'd rather do with her there.

There was nothing of interest to find there, and he checked the jewelry box on the dresser before his eyes drifted to the bedside table. It was on the side that she always slept on; probably as good a place as any to hide something in or behind.

As he got down on his knees he had a premonition.

Seconds later he heard, "Roger, whatcha doing?" and wondered why his ass was still up in the air.

He turned around to see Mimi leaning against the door in his plaid pajama pants and an old, oversized t-shirt, her arms folded. The amusement in her voice didn't translate into her expression and he had a sick feeling of déjà vu for the second time that day.

He ignored the question, pulling his hand out from behind the bedside table. "Hey baby," he smiled, getting up and crossing over to her. She remained stony and rigid as he kissed her cheek, refusing to give him anything. He took a cautionary step back, "How was your sleep?"

"What are you doing in my room?" she asked coldly and he wondered why she was asking in the first place. Wasn't it obvious?

"I was…" _looking for your stash_. He couldn't finish the sentence, but he found that he couldn't lie either. What was he going to say? 'I was looking for a candle'? Actually…

"Well," Mimi demanded and Roger stepped around her,

"I was looking for a candle," he said carefully, not willing to face her.

Her confusion was evident, "What?"

"You asked me to light a candle," Roger reminded and if he could see Mimi's face he'd probably start to question his own sanity and the soundness of his excuse.

"What?"

"You came up to the loft," Roger recounted, "Knocked on the door- I thought it was Mark cause he's always forgetting stuff, so I asked 'What'd you forget?' and you asked if I could light your candle."

The only sounds for a little while were that of Roger rummaging through drawers looking for said candle.

Then, "What the fuck Roger?"

"You don't-"

"Of course I remember," Mimi snapped, her tone causing Roger to tense, "But why the hell are you looking for a candle?"

"You want to know the truth?" Roger demanded, turning around slowly.

Mimi had her arms crossed, fight in her eye, "Yeah."

"I want to know if you were getting high last night," he said honestly. Some of the fight left, replaced by anger,

"I wasn't Roger."

"Mimi-" _I don't trust you_.

"Roger," she interrupted, unsure if she could bear hearing those words. They would be the last straw for her. "I wasn't. Really baby, I wasn't." _I wasn't._

Roger wasn't hearing the unspoken. Not this time. "I used to be a junkie Mimi, I-" _used to lie too._

"I'm not lying to you Roger-" The skepticism on his face stopped her from repeating herself.

"Where'd you go last night Mimi?" Roger asked and Mimi faltered. She didn't want to lie to him, but she couldn't answer the question honestly without making it seem like something it wasn't. Without giving him cause to jump to conclusions.

"Why do you care?" she asked softly, wanting the conversation to end.

Roger took a couple steps forward, a hand on her arm and the other cupping her cheek. "I love you Mimi. Baby, I'm not going to watch you destroy yourself. I can't," he swore.

"I'm not destroying myself Roger," Mimi reassured, but she could tell that he didn't believe her.

Roger sighed and shook his head. He dropped his hands and looked down at the ground. "Mimi," he asked quietly, seriously, "Why did you come up to the loft this morning?"

There wasn't any way of answering that that didn't put her in the wrong in his eyes. "Roger-" she started but he cut her off,

"Why did you leave in the first place Mimi?" He was getting angry and he took a step back, just like their relationship did at that moment, "To get more smack? You left in the middle of the fucking night to go get smack- look me in the eye and tell me that you didn't go out for it!" he demanded.

"I…" and she knew that as innocent as she was, she wouldn't be able to do it. "Roger…"

"Why did you come up to the loft this morning?" Roger demanded and she winced at his voice. It was one of those fights again. The kind where they stormed off fuming, each hating the other, each thinking the other in the wrong. They were back to those fights again.

"Because I…" whatever Mimi said, it wouldn't make a difference. Roger already had his mind made up and anything said would somehow support his conclusion. It didn't make a difference what she said.

Roger was thinking of the look in her eye, the look he saw when he hesitated. And he knew. He knew he knew. "Because you were high, weren't you," he said, his voice wavering from the effort of controlling it. "You were fucking high. I can't believe I-"

Mimi snapped out of it. "It's not… Roger, please just-" _give me a second to explain._

"Fuck Mimi," Roger muttered, turning away from her touch and distancing himself. He shook his head, "Fuck it. I'm- I need to… I'm going upstairs."

"Roger- "

He was gone before she even finished calling his name, the slammed door vibrating through the small loft.

For a while she just stared at it, waiting for him to come back. Waiting for him to be understanding again, to realize that she really was trying.

After a long, long while she went to the cabinet and retrieved her cereal box, taking the smack and paraphernalia out.

Truth was, she did go out that night and buy the smack.

She wrestled with temptation for eternity before going to Roger so she wouldn't have to use it. To prove that even if it was there, she wouldn't need it. That she was stronger than it.

And now… if he already thought she'd used it, well, there was no point in denying the craving any longer…

**A/N: Just a small note from last chapter- has anyone ever realized that Roger never actually does take his AZT after his and Mimi's beepers go off during La Vie Boheme? **

**And thanks to the two people that reviewed- it meant a lot. Hopefully I get some feedback for this chapter...**


	16. January 15th 4:56 pm EST

**January 15****th**** 4:56 pm EST**

**Avenue A**

"Mr. Cohen! Mr. Cohen!"

Mark turned around after Kat had stopped walking, giving her a curious look. She'd been quiet ever since school started the other day, but then again, Kat had been relatively quiet ever since Mark had brought her home, so her silence didn't account for much. The odd look that she was giving him did though. "What's up?" he asked, getting a little worried.

Kat hunched her shoulders and huddled the bottom half of her face into the thick coat that had been delivered with her other things over the weekend. "Someone's calling you, Uncle Mark," she mumbled into the fabric and Mark looked around the street,

"What?"

"Mr. Cohen! Mr. Cohen!"

Kat turned around towards the sound of the voice, "Now do you hear it?" she asked and Mark nodded. But who the hell was calling him? Everyone he knew who would make the trek into Alphabet City called him by his first name.

"Mr. Cohen! Thanks goodness I've found you!" A short white man with a balding head semi-jogged up to them, the scarf wrapped around his neck slowly unfurling. Kat leaned into Mark and he wrapped an arm around her shoulders.

"You know this guy?" he whispered just as the man stepped onto the sidewalk where they stood, and Kat shook her head.

"Mr. Cohen?" the man questioned, panting from his run. "Mark Cohen?"

Mark glanced up and down the sidewalk, stepping back as someone walked between the two parties. "That's me," Mark said hesitantly. How did this guy know his name?

"Oh good," the man smiled, "I'm Timothy Edwards; I was told you have a background in theatre and I was wondering if you could-"

Mark felt Kat shiver under his arm. "Excuse me," he interrupted politely; he had the feeling this might be a longer conversation, one that he might want to have in hopes it leading to a job. Timothy nodded and Mark pulled Kat towards the door. "Do you want to go up to the loft?" Mark asked. The girl nodded and Mark opened the door for her, "I'll be up in a minute or two," he promised, kissing her on the cheek.

"Okay," Kat whispered, standing there until the door had closed. The weight of the books on her back was starting to make her shoulders ache. The darkness of the landing was broken only by small slivers of light coming through the cracks in the boarded up windows.

Someone flushed a toilet and Kat snapped out of her trance; a door opened somewhere in the upper lofts and Kat turned around, beginning the accent and wondering if Collins or Roger would be there. It was Collins she silently wished for, Collins she felt most connected with. Mark was too constant of a presence to have the same effect and she hadn't seen Collins since he disappeared Monday morning.

The stairs were creaking under her feet and Kat was staring at them, listening to them, getting lost in them; so when someone came barreling down the stairs and, in turn, barreling into her, she was caught completely off guard.

It was something short of a miracle when she managed to grab the part of the handrail that wasn't splintering, her other hand shooting out to help her assailant from freefalling face-first down the stairs. There was a scream and for a second Kat was worried she'd broken the fragile bone under her grip. It occurred to her that in order for bone to break she would need to feel it break, which she hadn't. The lady she'd grabbed hold of sunk to the floor, Kat still holding it up at an odd angle.

"Are you okay?" Kat asked quietly, trying to push the images of the disaster they'd averted out of her mind.

The lady looked up and Kat's breath caught in her throat. She knew this lady. This lady wasn't a lady.

"Kat?" the girl croaked out, folding her legs to her chest and holding onto them tightly.

"Uh, Mimi?" Kat responded, but it wasn't the same Mimi she'd eaten dinner with two days prior. This was a different Mimi- one who was gleaming of sweat despite the cold atmosphere and lack of proper clothing, one whose eyes adopted a completely alien desperation and animal hunger.

"Kat," Mimi whispered, slowly starting to rock back and forth on her heels, "Kat, Kat, Kat."

Kat glanced down the stairs, praying that her Uncle would come up, and then glanced up the stairs, praying for Roger to come down. Neither appeared in the couple seconds she wasted looking and she knelt down to Mimi's level, unsure what to do. "Mimi," she whispered and Mimi stopped repeating her name to look up, "Are you okay?"

Mimi blinked; her entire body started shaking and she broke down into tears.

The tears were like an off switch for Kat's emotional operating system- there was no way she could deal with them when she still produced them periodically through every day. "I'm going to go get Roger," she whispered and started to leave but a hand latched onto her ankle just as she stepped.

"No," Mimi whispered, terrified, "No, not him. Anyone but him!"

The fear in her eyes was genuine and Kat wondered what the hell Roger had done to her. What could have changed so much from yesterday, where they looked ready to pounce on one another? What could have happened in a day to provoke such a reaction? She didn't want to turn back on, but she had to ask, "What did he do?"

"He doesn't understand," Mimi choked out before starting to sob and Kat was intensely relieved she hadn't been given a darker reason. Not that Roger came off like that. But she didn't know why Roger had spent the entire night yesterday in his room, so she had to ask,

"Understand what?"

Mimi went rigid, and her hands started to itch across the inside flesh of her arms. Kat debated just leaving her, but knew she couldn't with a good conscience. "Mimi-"

"He can't be a part of it!" Mimi snapped and Kat reeled back, hitting the first step with her heel and falling backward. She landed on a step but the ones above it jabbed into her back, winding her. "He can't be a part of it," Mimi whispered softer and when Kat could breathe she leaned forward a little,

"Mimi, what the hell are you talking about? Are you okay?" Mimi had started twitching and Kat was seriously getting worried.

"I…" Mimi stood up, almost fell down the stairs, and sat back down again, crossing her legs and holding each foot with a hand. She looked torn, like she going through a silent moral dilemma; her head snapped to Kat and Kat froze. "Don't let me go," Mimi whispered, her body beginning to shake once again, "Don't let me do it," she pleaded, "Don't let me go. I don't want to do it."

The fear behind her eyes took over and Kat nodded, not wanting to be the one who pushed Mimi over the edge. "Do what?" she asked gently.

"Get it," Mimi answered, her eyes darting down the staircase, hands tightening their grip on her feet, "Don't let me Kat… I want to, I need to…"

"Mimi," Kat asked carefully, finally standing up and crouching down next to the other girl, "Do you want to go back to your loft?"

"No," Mimi snapped. She bit her lip and nodded, "Yes. Don't listen to me. Don't let me go."

Kat nodded, not sure what to think or do. "Can you stand up?" she asked, offering her hand but Mimi only stared at it,

"I think so…" she looked up at Kat, begging, "But I want to go down Kat."

Kat shook her head, "No you don't." What Kat understood of the situation was that Mimi felt like she needed to do something, but she didn't want to it. What she didn't know was if whatever it was, was good or bad… something told her it was bad. And even if it was good, Mimi didn't look like she was in any condition to be going places.

"Kat-"

"You just said that you wanted to go back to your loft," Kat reminded and Mimi shook her head, shrinking further into herself,

"But I need to get it," she whimpered.

"Mimi, you can barely walk-" Kat pointed out, "Whatever it is you need it can wait until later." She offered her hand again.

"But I need it," Mimi whined, refusing to take or even look at the hand.

"No you don't," Kat said firmly, and Mimi started crying softly,

"Kat, I need it…"

It was like she was dealing with a four year old who wanted cookies after bedtime, but she didn't know what the cookies were, or when bedtime had been. "Mimi?" she asked, waiting until she got Mimi's attention before she continued, "I'm either going to help you back to your loft, or I'm going to get Roger and he's going to help you back to your loft, because I honestly don't know what's wrong with you and I'm worried."

Mimi's eyes widened in fear, "Don't get Roger," she hissed. The anger faded away and was replaced by a complete lack of resistance. "I'll do whatever you want me to do, but don't get Roger," she pleaded, "You can't-"

She was starting to get hysterical again, and Kat put a hand on her shoulder. It was the first real contact they'd had, other than their almost-topple down the stairs; "I won't get him Mimi," she promised, "But you need to go back to your loft."

Mimi latched onto her hand, "Why?"

"Because that's what you wanted, remember?"

Kat smiled as Mimi nodded her head, "Right. Because I can't. I can't. I can't. I…"

It wasn't really hard to pull her up, and Kat wrapped an arm around Mimi's waist as Mimi hung off her shoulders. Mimi wasn't as big as the guys were- she was taller than Kat, but the one of them that weighted the least. There was no more conversation until they reached the door. "Do you have your keys?" Kat asked, knowing which was hers from Mark.

"It's not locked," Mimi whispered, her face in the crook of Kat's neck.

Kat muttered, "That's probably not safe," softly, opening the door with minimal difficulty. Mimi's legs collapsed and they almost fell into a pile on the floor but Kat gripped the door handle, somehow managing to keep them up.

"What'd you say?" Mimi asked, her eyes glazing over.

"It's the least of my concerns," Kat reassured. "Are you okay?"

"Kat…"

"Yeah?" Kat asked, slightly uneasy.

"Don't get Roger but…" Mimi trailed off again and Kat started getting worried.

"What?"

"I'm going to be sick," she admitted, moaning softly and Kat looked around the loft. It was all intensely unfamiliar- even the layout was completely different than Mark's was.

"Where's your bathroom Mimi?" Kat asked, somewhere between pulling and carrying Mimi into the loft. Mimi nodded and Kat saw the ajar door. "We're almost there…" she encouraged as she struggled to get Mimi to the bathroom.

The door opened with a loud protest of rust against rust and Kat gently lowered the both of them to the ground by the toilet. Mimi held onto her, crying, "I don't feel well…"

Kat rubbed her back, shifting so Mimi could more easily access the toilet. "You don't look so good…"

In retrospect, it probably wasn't the greatest thing in the world to say, but Mimi let out a small, slightly vain, "Oh," before puking into the bowl.

"Fuck," Kat muttered. Her… Katharine's brother had frequent stomach flues that often resulted in a large amount of bathroom time but a relatively small amount of sickness, so Kat wasn't prepared for the sudden hurl. "You're okay Mimi…" she whispered soothingly, easily slipping into caretaker persona, pulling the tangled hair away from Mimi's face, "You'll be okay," she murmured as Mimi once again emptied her stomach, "Just let it all out," she encouraged.

A fleeting image of Mark and whether or not she was invoking some kind of panic upstairs erupted in her mind, but a second later Mimi slumped down into her and took priority. "You okay?" Kat asked. Her question sailed right over Mimi's head as she said,

"I'm such a fucking failure."

"Hey," Kat said, pushing the bangs stuck to Mimi's forehead to the side, "No, you're not."

"Yes I am…" Mimi started speaking in another language and Kat assumed that it was Spanish, and that she wasn't saying very nice things about herself.

"Mimi," she interrupted after a moment, "I can't understand you. What are you saying?"

"Angel tried to get me off of them." Kat froze at the name. Angel? The same Angel that Collins lost? It had to be- how many 'Angel's' could there be in New York City? "When she was alive. She tired so hard, so many times," Mimi was blabbering by now, "I should've done it then. I can't do it now. I can't. I need her!"

"Who's Angel?" Kat asked, almost afraid to be answered. A part of her felt like she was betraying Collins for asking, but the other part argued she was just trying to help Mimi.

"She's my best friend." Mimi started crying harder and Kat wrapped her arms around Mimi's body, holding her tightly, "She's gone… she's gone… just like I'm going to go… and I'm going to join her soon…"

"Mimi- why?"

"I have AIDS Kat- I'm HIV positive."

Kat was saved from responding as Mimi messily propelled herself forwards, puking into the stained and cracked toilet. For a second Kat hesitated, berating herself almost immediately afterwards. She remembered reading somewhere that it was only blood and sex you could get infected through, and being there for Mimi was a safe, and right, thing to do.

"Is that why you're so sick?" Kat asked softly after wiping Mimi's face gently with a damp cloth.

"No. No. I need it." The wild look was back in Mimi's eyes and she grabbed Kat's hand, "I need to feel better."

"What do you need to feel better?" Kat asked, all ears. She wanted this to stop as badly almost as badly as Mimi must have. "Water?" she guessed when Mimi didn't answer. Kat started to lift Mimi up, "Here, let's get you into bed-"

A short, but genuine laugh escaped Mimi's throat and Kat froze again. Was Mimi laughing at her? What the hell was going on? Mimi must have seen the concern on Kat's face because she shook her head, "It's just this is the most I've ever heard you talk, you know?" Mimi asked and Kat didn't know. Kat didn't understand what was happening or where the moment of lucidity was coming from. "Usually you're snuggled up next to Mark or Collins…" a small cough turned violent and soon Mimi was dry-heaving into the toilet.

"Mimi, what do you need to feel better?" Kat asked, hoping Mimi wouldn't pick up on the panic. "I could go get-"

"No! No," Mimi said more calmly, accepting the help up and even doing some of the work herself. She leaned against Kat, "Never. Don't do it. It's not good for you."

"Then how is it going to make you feel better?" Kat pressed. She had a feeling that it was going to be something bad, but there was still that small chance it was something harmless. "What are you talking about?"

"The smack," Mimi admitted, the word sending a twitch through her entire body. Kat pushed her onto the bed, feeling Mimi's impulse to bolt. "I need some smack." Mimi eyed the door behind Kat, her leg starting to bounce up and down uncontrollably.

"Smack?" Kat asked on the off chance it wasn't what she thought it was.

"Heroin." Mimi jerked, standing up and taking a step before she threw herself back onto the bed. She started clawing at her forearms, "Look at my arms Kat. I'm a fucking junkie and a fucking failure!"

For a terrified moment Kat contemplated fleeing. Just turning around, getting Roger, and getting him to deal with whatever the hell Mimi was going through. Instead, for whatever reason, she sat down on the bed, keeping her hands to herself. "You're not a failure Mimi," she said calmly and Mimi rolled over, glaring at her,

"How do you know that? You don't even know me!"

Kat winced at the smoldering hatred in her voice, hoping it wasn't caused by her. "Mimi, you're not a failure until you've given up."

"I have given up! I was going down the stairs! I gave up…" Mimi stared sobbing and Kat reached out, hesitating before taking one of Mimi's hands.

She ran her thumb in small circles on the soft skin and bones. "But you decided to come back here- _you_ did that."

"No I didn't," Mimi cried, wiggling across the bed and pressing her face into Kat's thigh, "You took me back here. I want to be down there. Out there."

Mimi's body went rigid as she said 'out there', and Kat started rubbing her back again. "No you don't Mimi," she whispered, wondering if she was helping out whatsoever. She continued on the off chance that she was. "You don't, or else you wouldn't have asked me to help you up here. You wanted to come back, not me. This was your choice, not mine."

"Roger wants me to quit…" Mimi admitted without looking up.

"Roger loves you," Kat pointed out and Mimi's grip on her hand tightened.

"I love Roger. I do. I really do. He's the thing I love most in the world." Mimi knew Kat wouldn't understand the magnitude of the admission, but it felt good to admit. It meant that she was getting to the point where she would maybe soon be able to admit it to herself.

"Have you told him that?" Kat asked and Mimi shook her head, happy her face couldn't be seen,

"I can't."

"Why not?"

Mimi cringed at the simple question. There were a million reasons- because it was Roger, because it was her, because it was smack, because it was their fighting and their making love, because it was her and not him… "Because he doesn't get it."

"What doesn't he get?" Kat asked and as frustrating as the question was, Mimi wasn't angry with it.

She curled up into a smaller ball; her lying body conforming to Kat's sitting one. "That I'm not like him," she whispered, holding Kat's hand tight, holding it as the only support line to the sane world, "He doesn't understand."

Kat was petting her hair and she liked it- it reminded her of Angel. And then Kat was talking softly, "I think the only one who can really understand is you Mimi," she admitted.

Mimi shook her head, feeling herself drifting off out of sheer exhaustion, "You get it. You understand."

"Understand what?" Kat asked, reading the signs that Mimi was almost fast asleep. How could she understand something she didn't know the subject matter of?

"You get it… you understand…" were Mimi's last words and Kat was still none the wiser with what she did or didn't get.

- - - - -

"Hello?" Mark called, stepping into the loft. It turned out that the man on the street owned a theatre just a few blocks down and they needed a technician to set up the sound and lighting plots for an upcoming show. Timothy Edwards had gotten his name off the grapevine- which Mark took to mean that Joanne had taken the liberty of making some calls, getting his name out there.

Roger's head popped up from behind the couch and Mark did a double-take. "Mark?" he confirmed.

"What the hell are you doing behind there?" he asked, unwrapping his scarf from around his neck but keeping his coat on for the time being. It was pretty chilly inside the loft. "You and Collins finish the room yet?"

"Uh, the room's almost finished; it'll probably be good by tomorrow night."

"That didn't take long," Mark remarked, heading into the kitchen; at the same time he looked behind the couch to see what the hell Roger was up to this time. Roger was turned away from him so he was forced to ask, "What are you doing?" again.

Roger's head turned left and right, probably taking in his surrounds and realizing what an odd place he'd positioned himself. "Oh," Roger turned around and Mark swore he saw a bit of a blush. "I fell of the couch again- this way I can't fall," he explained quickly and Mark laughed.

When another look around the loft didn't locate his niece he asked, "Where's Kat at?"

Roger shrugged, getting up off the floor, "Beats me. Collins' is up on the roof though, maybe up there?"

Mark nodded along, getting himself a glass of tap water. "Did you see her?" Roger shook his head and Mark lowered the glass from his lips, "Then how would she know that Collins is up there?"

"Don't ask me. I don't understand her," Roger muttered, sitting himself on the table and looking expectantly at Mark.

"What?" Mark asked, wondering if he'd forgotten to pick something up, or forgotten to say something he was being expected to say. He knew that something was up with Mimi, but he didn't know whether or not he was supposed to talk about it with Roger. So he asked; "Roger, you need to talk about it?"

Roger eyed him, "About what?" Mark had a feeling that his roommate had just been in an odd mood and hadn't really had a topic of conversation in mind.

He decided to go with it anyways, putting his glass on the counter and leaning back against it, "I know something happened between you and Mimi- I'm not an idiot. Is it serious? Is Mimi-" he wanted to say _back on drugs_, but Roger interrupted him before he had a chance,

"Mark, I don't need you to get into this. Whatever's between me and Mimi is between me and Mimi." Mark meant well, but he didn't need to deal with Roger's issues on top of everything else he was juggling. He'd told Collins that and he meant it, and he was going to get pissed off soon if Mark didn't drop it.

Mark, however, didn't seem too inclined to do so, "I don't understand why the hell you won't let me help you!" he burst out, clearly angry himself.

"I'm a big boy Mark;" Roger spat out, "I don't need your help!"

"I'm your _friend_ Roger," Mark emphasized, "That's why I want to help you- not because I don't think you can take care of yourself."

Roger slid off the table, "Mark, you don't need to worry about our shit right now," he tried to explain. Mark snapped his mouth shut and for a second Roger thought he understood. But then he pushed off the counter and stormed away, stopping just as he got to the door.

"You're ridiculous, you know that? Fucking ridiculous."

Roger watched him go, not really getting what the hell had just happened, or why Mark was so pissed off.

- - - - -

Collins was watching the street below, oddly hot out in the cold. He stood right above the piece of graffiti that commemorated Angel's name onto the side of the building, as if the closer he stood to it, the closer he would be to his lover. A trip to the cemetery was in order soon and he would have gone that day if it weren't for wanting to see Kat before he left. So he headed up to the roof, needing to get away from Roger and his moodiness.

The door creaked open and Collins turned around, fully expecting to see Kat. But Mark appeared in her stead, his pale features tainted with a light pink hue.

"What you doing up here Mark?" Collins asked, slightly concerned.

"Roger's being a fucking asshole," Mark seethed. He didn't understand why the one person he might actually be able to help was refusing help. It made him feel useless; Kat just needed time, and there was a chance whatever Roger was going through would be something he'd be able to give some input on.

It was halfway across the roof that Mark realized Kat wasn't present. He stopped on a dime, fear seizing his heart. "Where's Kat?"

"Kitty? Why, is she supposed to be here?"

Mark's throat went dry and he turned on his heel, running for the door. He let Kat into the building, and she didn't come back out, so he knew that she was somewhere inside of it. And knowing most of the building tenants didn't shake the ominous feeling that something bad could have happened to her. The stairs passed under his feet in a blur, and soon he was panting at the door to his loft

Kat was in the kitchen fixing herself a snack, and she looked up, "Hey Uncle Mark…" she trailed off unsteadily at the look on his face. "Are you okay?"

"Where the hell were you!?" he demanded, coming all the way into the loft, Collins tailing him.

"I was…" Kat glanced between him and Collins- Roger was no where to be seen. "There was a lady who needed help moving her… furniture."

"What lady?" Mark demanded.

Kat shrugged, "I don't know."

"What loft was it?" Mark grilled and Kat put down the plate of carrots and crackers she'd been making,

"I don't remember… maybe the second floor?" she answered softly. "Can I go to my room?" she asked and Mark looked at her for a moment.

"A lady on the second floor wanted you to help her move her furniture?" he asked, the skepticism obvious in his voice. Even if it could happen, it didn't feel like Kat was telling the truth.

Kat nodded, "Yeah. Uncle Mark, please?"

For a second Mark couldn't remember what she was asking permission for but then he moved aside and nodded his head, "Yeah, of course…"

Kat walked past Mark, leaving him in a state of complete perplexity. "Hey Collins," she greeted with a shy, crooked half-smile. She would have kept walking past him but he placed a hand on her shoulder, turning around.

"Think you can just leave without saying good-bye to me?" he demanded playfully.

Kat's face fell, "You're not staying?"

"Fortunately no, Kitty." Collins pulled her into a hug, surprised when Kat reached up to wrap her arms around his neck. "You okay?" he asked and with Mark looked at him from one side, Kat whispered into the other,

"Mimi's sick downstairs- doesn't want anyone to know. Take care of her for me, please?"

Collins nodded, pulling away and kissing her on the cheek, holding her hands for an extra second. "Take care of yourself, okay?" he smiled and Kat returned with another shy half-smile,

"You too," she whispered and Collins pulled her into another hug, whispering into her ear,

"Don't worry, I will. Both of us," he promised.

Collins left through the door, Kat closed the curtains to her room and Roger sulked on the Perch- Mark stood in the kitchen, wondering how the hell he'd gotten to this place in his life, and if he'd ever feel like he knew or be able to understand what was going on around him.

**A/N: So I don't really understand how this got so long… I really appreciated the reviews I got, and if you can, review this chapter as well! They mean a lot to me, and I want to remind y'all again that you don't need to have an account to give one! Questions, concerns, ideas, random trivia facts, anything! I'll post when I finish the next one, but I'm not above creative begging ; )**


	17. January 16th

_Warning: Written mostly in Gloomy Mood; semi-colon's galore... it's complicated...  
_

**January 16****th**

**Wednesday - Two Weeks**

It was going to be an emotionally draining day for Kat.

Mark knew it the second he got up and left her curled up in her bed, padding across the cold loft floor as quietly as he could. Roger was up on the couch and staring straight ahead- Mark hadn't seen Mimi in two days. And today marked two weeks since Kat's family had died.

Even now, an hour and a half into the day, Kat had not spoken a single word to anyone. Mark was trying to get her to eat some cereal when the obnoxious ringing of the phone cut through the loft.

"_SPEEAAK_!" it slurred out eventually and Roger abruptly stopped strumming the guitar he'd picked up minutes ago, almost falling of the top of the couch as he shouted, "The fuck?!" He looked around to Kat and Mark. "Did the phone even ring?"

Mark's eyes left Kat, a little concerned as he answered with a rocky; "Yeah… didn't you hear it?"

"Why the hell would I ask you if I did?" Roger muttered as he slid off the edge, into the safety of the cushions.

"Kat, eat," Mark said before crossing the loft to get the phone.

The machine had picked up the message, playing it in the background of their conversation, "Hey guys, it's me, Joanne. Listen, Mark, if you're there can you pick up the phone? My office just got some papers in from Jacobs and I wanted to send them back as soon as I could; there's something down here about clinic hours that I'm not sure belongs in the file, but I'm not really clear on all the details of it. I guess if-"

"Joanne?" Mark asked, picking up the phone; there'd been times where he'd picked it up and someone had continued talking right through his greeting.

"Good morning Mark," Joanne's voice greeted him on the other side of the line, "How are you?"

"Good," Mark smiled, ignoring Roger's background question of,

"How long exactly can our machine record before it turns off?" Kat responded to his question with a blank, distant look which only sent Roger into a further sulk. When she turned her gaze to Mark he motioned sternly fro her to eat and she looked at him with doleful eyes.

"Mark?"

"Sorry," he apologized, wondering if the spoon in Kat's hand would ever get into her mouth. "It's morning- how are things with you?"

"Not too bad. Listen Mark, the reason I'm calling-"

"I heard the message," Mark interrupted. He heard Joanne sigh,

"Right. Well, it says here that-" Roger's beeper went off and Roger launched himself across the couch to get to it. It fell to the floor along with the pile of papers it'd been balanced on and Mark rolled his eyes. The beeping finally ended and Roger collapsed over the arm of the couch, grumbling inaudibly to himself; Kat had used the distraction as an excuse to put her spoon down. Mark sighed,

"Kat, stop staring at Roger. Can you please just pretend I'm Collins and I've said whatever it is he says to make you eat? Roger, take your-"

"I got it Mark!" Roger cried angrily, getting off the couch and stomping into the bathroom. The door slammed loudly, echoing through the loft. Kat was looking at him slightly offended and Mark suddenly remembered that Joanne was on the line.

"Joanne?" he asked tiredly, "Sorry about that. Can I-"

"Stop by the office later on today? Yeah, I think that'd probably be best."

Mark smiled at her intuitiveness, "Thanks Joanne. I appreciate it."

"I'll see you soon Mark," he could heard the smile in her voice,

"See you. Two bites Kat, that's all I'm asking for," he said as he hung up the phone. Kat shook her head, but didn't offer up an explanation. Usually he could force at least a couple bites down her throat- now he was getting nothing.

He took a seat next to her and leaned his elbows on the surface of the table, "Kitty, two more bites and I'll stop hassling you. But you need to eat."

She turned around and looked at him, speaking for the first time in the morning, "Please Mark." The desperation in her voice caused him to cave.

He shook his head, disappointed, but didn't press the issue, "I'm going to go take a shower- be ready to leave when I get out."

Kat dropped the spoon on the table and the metals collided with a startling clank. "Kitty," Mark whispered, realizing his earlier words may have been a little harsh. She was probably feeling crappy enough without him breathing down her neck. "I love you," he muttered, pressing a kiss into her hair.

- - - - -

"Hey…" Roger shot a suspicious glare at the street below him- if he had a watch he would've checked the time. "Aren't you supposed to be in school?"

Kat shrugged, "Aren't you supposed to be with Mimi?"

The response stunned Roger and for a second the truth of her question rung clearly in his ears. But he didn't want to think of Mimi at the moment, so he did the next best thing- he picked a fight with a sixteen year old.

"What the hell is your problem with me?" he demanded, lifting himself off the lawn chair he stationed himself on.

A glare was all he got in response and he looked around the rooftop to see if they were alone. "Where's Mark?" he asked harshly and Kat flinched.

"Joanne, why?"

"Does he know…?" Roger didn't finish the question. It was obvious from the look on her face that Mark didn't know his niece was playing hooky for the day. Roger sighed, "You gonna ask me not to say anything?"

Kat shrugged and walked past him; it was the boldest move he'd seen her make to date. She stopped by the cement barrier separating roof from five storey freefall, leaning against it. The posture had an uncanny resemblance to one Mark assumed from time to time and Roger felt compelled to go join her.

They looked out over what they could see, industrial buildings, white, smog, various people milling about the street below them. Roger scanned the street for anyone he might know, anyone who would distract him and give him a better outlet than fighting with Mark's niece.

"Why do you hate me," Kat whispered and Roger gave her a side-long look,

"Why do you hate me?" he asked in return. Kat didn't look at him as she said,

"I know you don't want me here. Why?"

Roger cocked his head; where'd she get that idea? "Why do you think I don't want you here?" he asked, "Mark loves you!"

"But you hate me," was Kat's soft reply and Roger felt his heart break; he'd thought that voice had disappeared.

He glanced at the door, wondering if Mark, or anyone, would come through it and save him from this confrontation, but no one came. He shook his head- "That's not true,"

"No?" Kat questioned, her head falling between her arms; the noise she made would be described as laughter, but she wasn't laughing in the emotional sense of the word. "You can't deny it Roger."

"Yes I can." Was he trying to convince himself as well? "'Cause it's not true."

Kat paused for a moment. She stood up and stepped up to the barrier, leaning her entire body against the concrete. With folded arms, still not quite looking at him, she asked, "Then what is true? Why you do dance around me? Every time we're alone together you get uncomfortable and you're always looking to see if someone's going to come and save you from me."

"Not always…" Roger muttered, but even as he said it he realized his eyes were darting to and fro the stairwell door.

"No," Kat said, bitterly, sarcastically, "Just when we're alone… like now." Her features softened and she bit her bottom lip; Roger could see her eyes beginning to glaze over.

"You know," he said, hoping to keep her cheeks dry, "I haven't heard you talk this much before."

Kat scoffed, "Mimi said the same thing. I'm not a mute Roger."

"Of course you aren't." He couldn't help but think of the reason it appeared that way; "It's just weird."

"Should I stop?" Kat asked softly.

"No," Roger answered quickly, surprising the both of them. "No, this is good," he said a little calmer. "Do you talk this much with Mark?"

Kat shrugged, "I don't know. Why? Is it important?"

"It's not," Roger assured, "I was just wondering."

"Then wonder something else."

Again, the words and tone indicated that they were supposed to be venomous, but her soft infliction dulled the emotion in the comment down to almost nothing. "See, you do things like that and you say you don't hate me," he muttered darkly.

Kat sighed, "I don't hate you Roger… it's just…" she was struggling with her words- struggling to actually figure out what she was feeling. "It's just easy to be angry at you. And I don't know why-" she said before he could protest, "At first it was just a nice change from being so fucking depressed all the time."

"You got mad at Maureen," Roger pointed out, not really sure what else to say. What else he could say to something like that.

"Yeah, but…" Kat took a deep breath, "That wasn't about Maureen. That was about me."

"And you're angry at me now because…"

"You hate me and I don't get it," she answered promptly, her voice never losing the meek quality to it. "You're Uncle Mark's best friend- we should get along, don't you think?"

Roger turned around, almost mimicking to the tee her position. "I guess so," he sighed noncommittally.

"Look," Kat turned around to face him, leaning against the barrier with her hip now, "I want to stay here. You hating me jeopardizes that and I don't want to leave."

"So you get pissed at me because you think I'm going to make Mark make you leave?" Roger asked, just to be sure he had everything straight.

Kat laughed again, the action, not the emotion; "No. Mark and Collins have drilled it into my head enough that I'm not leaving. But it pisses me off that you can't get over whatever it is that makes you hate me."

Roger's throat went dry- they were back on the hating. And although they never really left the topic, it'd been left out to dry. "Kat, I don't hate you…"

"Fine," her eyes narrowed, her voice lowering even more, "But you hate something about me Roger… Is it because I'm taking Mark away from you?"

"No;" Roger almost laughed- but he didn't want to chance her mistaking the direction of his laughter. "It's that… look, I've fucked up a lot in my life, okay? I get that. I've done some pretty bad stuff, and I don't like being reminded of it. You know how it is to see someone and know that you used to be like that?" he asked, admitting what he knew Mark had recognized and called out from the start. "How unnerving it is seeing what you used to be- and what's waiting for you at the end of the road once…"

"Once what?" Kat whispered and Roger shook his head; he'd said too much already,

"Nothing. Bottom line is that I don't hate _you_," he emphasized.

"You just hated what I was when I came here." It was more of an exhale than a said, and Roger started feeling oddly uncomfortable.

"Uh… I guess so," he admitted, "Yeah."

There was a slight pause, punctuated by a distant wail of emergency vehicles. Then Kat shook her head, "Well, Collins used to be like that too, but you don't see him getting chicken-shit around me."

Even though there was a serious reprimand from a sixteen-year old in the sentence, the only thing Roger could focus on was the word 'chicken-shit'. "Do you use that kind of language around Mark?" he asked, slightly bewildered that such a unison of words was heard out of girl-who-never-spoke-or-confronted's mouth.

"What the fuck do you think?" she rolled her eyes, "Get over yourself Roger." She pushed off the concrete barrier and Roger stared at her back,

"What…. Where are you going?" he called.

She stopped, turning around to address him, "Back to the loft,"

"Why?"

"I'm cold," she answered shortly. After a beat she said, "You can come with me if you want…"

"Okay… FUCK!" the obscenity was shouted so loudly that he was pretty sure Mark with Joanne in corporate America could hear him. Kat turned around to see what had caused it, starting to panic at the sight of Roger's sprawled body and red.

Red, red, red, red; it was like a traffic light, shouting at her to freeze. And she did. Until Roger moaned and she snapped out of her trance,

"Roger!" she yelled, rushing to him- their previous discussion was disregarded for the time being. Injured people and people in pain, any kind of pain, was something she couldn't stand.

"Don't touch me!" Roger shouted, using his body to deflect Kat's advances towards his bleeding arm. He stood up and didn't turn back to her, his promise to Mark presenting itself starkly in his mind.

"Roger," Kat said softly, putting a hand on his shoulder and gently wheeling him around to face her. There was a piece of fabric that appeared out of thin air in her hand and she gave him a sad smile.

It took a second to decipher it, decipher the weight and consequences that came with it. "You know," he whispered, revelation seeping into his voice.

Kat nodded, taking his hand carefully and pulling the sleeve of the jacket downwards, "Yeah, I know."

"But… how?"

Roger's dumbfounded amazement broke for a second, replaced by pain, when Kat managed to tug free his coat sleeve. "There was AZT in the bathroom- with your name on it. I'm not as naïve as… I know things," she muttered, indescribable sadness in her eyes.

"Look I would have told you sooner…" Roger started and Kat hushed him with,

"Mark wanted to tell me himself, right?"

He was beginning to see her in a new light, "How did you know?"

"I memorize people, Roger," she muttered, pressing the cloth gently against his cut, talking like one would when seeking to distract, "That's what I…" she stopped thoughtfully and finished with, "Used to do. It's kind of a hard habit to shake and the step down from memorizing is observing."

Roger was staring at her, wondering what the hell she was talking about, "Memorize people… what the hell does that mean?"

For a second Kat glanced up and looked into his eyes. Searched to see if he would be able to understand if she attempted to explain it. See if there was any chance in hell he could comprehend what she meant by it. "Nothing," she muttered finally; Roger hissed as her grip on his arm slipped. "Look, this would be easier if you sat down."

"Why are you doing this?" Roger asked, grateful but a little uneasy.

"Because I can," Kat answered, "And because it's what Mark would do."

He couldn't help the belligerence in his tone, "And how do you know what Mark would do?"

Kat stopped dabbing his cut, and soon, the two were looking at each other. "Mark's a good person Roger," Kat whispered, her breath coming out in cloudy white tuffs, "Good people do good things. He might be a wallflower, but he's a good uncle, a good friend and… he was a good brother, even if he didn't know it."

It was perhaps the first time that Kat had spoken about her family without getting teary eyed. The first time she acknowledged verbally their lacking presence without breaking down completely.

Roger rolled his shoulder and broke the silence with an obnoxious, "A wallflower?"

Kat sighed- she wouldn't ever be able to talk to Roger seriously, for any extended period of time about what she was going through, but that was okay. She started dabbing the cut on his arm again, "Stop moving so much," she muttered and Roger angled his body, slowly drawing away from her until he almost slipped and she glared at him.

"Watch the blood-" he warned sheepishly. "And what the hell is a wallflower?"

Kat looked up at him, mischief in her eye, "For me to know and you to find out."

It was a joke, but Roger wasn't sure if he should take it as a joke, because she wasn't laughing, or really showing any emotion other than concentrating on his cut. Which he didn't quite understand how he managed to get.

"Why don't you just go talk to her?" Kat asked.

Roger eyed her, "Who?"

"Mimi," Kat answered, bending her head to get a closer look- and probably to get away from his gaze.

"What do you know about Mimi?" he asked suspiciously, because to his knowledge, there hadn't been any interaction between Kat and Mimi, or even him and Mimi since Monday. The tension of the topic started surfacing.

"Why don't you just go talk to her?" Kat repeated when she didn't get an answer, still choosing not looking at him.

"Because I'm not ready yet!" Roger snatched his arm away from her, coming dangerously close to hitting her in the face with it. "Damnit!"

It wasn't clear if the second exclamation was a product of his cut or his frustration but Kat waited until his breathing slowed and his shoulders to stop heaving to ask, softly, "What is there to be ready for?"

Roger bit his lip; did he really have to explain himself to a teenager who really, really didn't seem to get it? "It's complicated," he settled on, grabbing his coat from the ground where Kat had dumped it.

"Do you love her?" was the first question Kat asked and Roger stopped, half-upright.

"Yes," he answered softly, his knuckles starting to turn white from their hold on the battered coat. Loving her was what made everything so fucking hard.

Kat took a step forward, hesitating, knowing what she wanted to do, but not knowing if it was appropriate. "Then how complicated can it be?"

Roger flinched, then turned around, glaring daggers, "What do you know, you're just a kid!" he shouted, instantly regretting it.

The change was abrupt and harshly visible; her face crumpled down into helplessness, sadness, with just a small tinge of something that could have been anger or resentment. "Just a kid who lost her family," she whispered, the broken voice cutting through the sounds of the rooftop and into Roger's heart.

He took a step forward and she took a step back- they were back to their old routine, but this time he'd caused it. Was he destined to be this way with everyone; even the fight with Mimi, at its very end, had been finished like this. A fight where anger and words masked true intention, where stomping off was the only resolution ever reached. Where he always ran away. "Kat…" he trialed off, unable to say anything else. He didn't want it to end the way it always did- he was sick of never really ending it.

"Just a kid who knows what it's like not knowing your last conversation's going to be your last."

And what could he say to that? Wasn't that just an elaborated version of 'no day but today'? Or of 'forget regret'?

They stood across from one another on the roof for a moment, the chilly air filling the space between them, Kat standing strong in her resolve to keep the tears at bay and Roger finding it in himself to resolve not to run away. To never repeat Santa Fe; he already knew that had been a mistake and not the way to deal with problems. But walking out of a room was the same thing on a smaller scale. It was still a mistake.

When Kat whispered, "Let's go inside Roger," he knew he had it in him to not turn his back on a problem again. So he said,

"Okay," and held the door open for her, hoping that he really could.

- - - - -

Kat looked at Roger. Hunched over, rubbing his arm distractedly, eyes troubled like nobody's business.

"Roger…" she started. The sentence was never finished. Getting up was the hard part, but once her feet were padding across the cold hardwood, the rest came easy. His hand wasn't as rough as she imagined it would feel, and she used it to lift up his arm, sitting down under it and curling into his body.

Roger was surprised at first; tense and uncomfortable. Then he let his arm relax, mold to the shape of her shoulders- she was smaller than Mimi, which was weird, and reminded him of his little sisters.

"You okay?" he asked softly, the loose hairs of her head tickling the bottom of his chin.

Kat nodded. "But you aren't," she whispered, snuggling into his chest and unexpectedly at ease.

The response caught him off guard and for a moment he was worried that she would continue with the statement. There was only silence though, another unfinished sentence. Nevertheless, he was compelled to say something to defend himself.

"Kitty," he whispered, resting his chin on her soft hair, "Some things just take time."

"And some times you don't have time," Kat replied almost instantly, but softly, patiently.

Roger choked on his answer. After a moment he felt word vomit emerging from his stomach like when he was in high school, arguing with words instead of facts, arguing with rhythm instead of reality; "Mimi needs to do this on her own terms, and I've got to give her the space to do it. She needs to figure stuff out on her own, and I'm not going to interfere with it." There was silence after his remark and Roger felt himself smirking; "What, no rebuttal to that?"

"No," Kat said simply, "Because that's what _you_ needed to figure out on your own."

It was only after Kat said it that he realized the meaning of what he said and its impact on his relationship with Mimi. And that Mimi would come to him when she was ready- that she just needed time.

"You're not half bad kiddo," he whispered into the top of Kat's head.

The girl falling asleep on his chest mumbled, "You neither," before she dropped off.

**A/N: Thank you to all that reviewed. It always means a lot, and I know this chapter took a little while to get up, but the next one will hopefully be up sooner! Hope you all review this one as well... and I know I sort of shelved Mark's story, but that'll come up next next chapter, so yay! **

**'And it's beginning to... snow!' I am not a happy camper :**


	18. January 17th

**Therapist Day**

**January 17****th**

"I'm not hungry," Kat muttered, staring at the slowly soggy-ing cereal in front of her.

Mark was in the shower, as per usual and Roger was pressing against the table, trying to get a good look at her face without being too obvious, "But it's Capt'n Crunch," he pointed out. Kat looked at him blankly. "It's good," he mumbled in his own defense, getting up to get a spoon.

"I don't want to go to a shrink," she muttered and Roger sighed, hearing it and for once feeling like he could actually admit understanding something about this girl. He sat down with his spoon and pulled the bowl so that it was between them,

"No one ever does Kitty," he sighed, putting his arm down and resting his head against it, taking a bite of the cereal. Kat could only watch him for a second before she took her own spoon and ate a mouthful of cereal. Her spoon clinked against his when he went for a second one.

She wasn't really hungry but for some reason watching Roger compelled her to copy him. Sometimes it really was 'monkey see, monkey do'. "I don't _need_ to go to a shrink," she clarified after she worked through another mouthful.

Roger nodded moodily, "I know. That's what I said too. But they force you to go, whether you want to or not, whether you need to or not."

Kat didn't say anything but together they quickly finished off the bowl.

- - - - -

Mark pulled on his shoes and sighed at the slouched figure of Kat on the couch. "Kat," he called dryly, "Sulking isn't going to help your cause. Put your shoes on or you're going to be late for school."

"I don't want to go," Kat muttered, reluctantly getting up off the couch with a small push from Roger. Everyone knew what she was talking about, so she didn't have to specify.

"You can do it Kat," Roger encouraged from the couch when she crumpled down to pull on her shoes, "The world believes in you!" The two at the door gave him an odd look but when Mark's back was turned Kat fingered him. He fingered her right back and threw in another gesture just for the fun of it.

"Roger, what the hell are you doing?" Mark snapped catching the last hand motion and being, understandably, appalled.

Roger opened his mouth, "She started… it…" Mark's dubious face caused him to sink back into the cushions and pick up his guitar. Of course Mark wouldn't believe him; but Kat came close to grinning at him before she left so he didn't care all that much.

- - - - -

They were on the subway the next time it was brought up.

"Uncle Mark, I really don't want to do this," she whispered to him. They were sitting beside one another and he suppressed the urge to snap at her.

"Kitty," he said tiredly, "You promised me that you would at least try," he reminded and Kat bit her lip.

"I know I did Uncle Mark I just… I'm doing okay, aren't I? Why do I need to go see a shrink?"

"If you stop calling him a shrink the idea might be a little more appealing," Mark suggested, ignoring the first part of her question for as long as he could. She needed validation, but Mark wasn't sure if she was doing okay. He wasn't sure what 'okay' consisted of in this situation. He didn't really understand what 'this situation' was.

Kat leaned into him when a grungy man sat down beside her and Mark automatically put his arm around her. "Would you still make me go if I didn't have to?" she whispered.

"What do you mean?"

"Would you still make me go if Grandma and Grandpa weren't making you make me go?" she explained and it took Mark a second to work his way through the sentence.

He sighed; Kat was clearly searching for some kind of confirmation that she was coping well on her own, and Mark wanted to give it to her. He knew Collins was doing well when he started acting something like his old self- the problem with Kat was that he didn't know what her old self was like. Obviously she wasn't doing well, but was she doing well enough considering? He didn't know. And there was no one he could turn to and ask.

"Kat, you might find that it helps you," he settled on, figuring it was a good enough answer but didn't show his complete lack of knowledge at her prior self. "It helps to talk about things, to be with someone who understands."

"How can anyone understand me?"

The train screeched against the tracks so Mark almost missed the miserable whisper; he cringed at the thought of how alone she felt. How could anyone understand what she was going through? No one had gone through exactly what she'd gone through, although there were people out there he was sure had lost their entire families just like her.

You can, a small voice in the back of his head whispered- and soon you'll experience it too.

Mark ignored that voice- the one that stubbornly reminded him of the limitedness of his own family, choosing instead to bring as much reassurance to his niece as he could. "You'd be surprised Kitty," he said, because he'd been too. "People don't have to go through the exact same thing to understand what you're feeling."

She didn't say anything- probably letting his words digest, seeing the truth in them. Then she asked, "Why didn't you tell me Roger had HIV?"

It was a non sequitur. "What?" he asked, twisting in his seat so he was leaning against one of the chair barriers and facing Kat.

"Did you actually not hear me, or are you just saying that?" she asked softly, with a bit of bite in her tone. It was odd, hearing words like that out of her mouth and he didn't understand where it had come from. She hadn't spoken so sharply to him before and it threw him off.

"I- uh, well, um, I-…" she continued to look at him expectantly and he figured there was no use trying to hold off any longer. This was the moment he'd been dreading. "So I guess you know then?"

He knew the answer before she said, "Yes. Why didn't you tell me?"

"Honestly Kitty?" She nodded so he continued, "Because it never came up. We never talked about it."

"But you could've told me," Kat insisted, scooting closer as the grungy man sneezed violently. "When you were telling me about Roger that first time. You could have told me. Why didn't you?"

It didn't seem to Mark like she was angry at him, just curious to know why. And it wasn't like he'd kept it from her intentionally… well, on some levels the omission was intentional, but in the beginning it really was a genuine mistake. "I wasn't sure how much you knew about my friends," he started, which was the truth. "It's not the sort of thing you go around broadcasting to the world, but it does sound like something my Mom and Dad would say without really realizing."

Kat nodded, content with the answer for the time being. "Why is it such a bad thing?"

"HIV?" Mark clarified and Kat nodded,

"Yeah. Everyone's so afraid of it- I don't get it." What she knew about HIV and AIDS was that it could kill you eventually and was usually the result of bad decisions, but she'd never known anyone who had it. It just wasn't a reality for her, it was just another stat in some boring side-bar newspaper story- and Roger looked like any other guy on the street. What was so terrifying about the thing inside him when he looked just the same as any other guy?

Mark swallowed, wondering if he could talk about it candidly, or even if he could talk about it at all. For him the reality was always lurking in the shadows of his mind, consistent, usually just a soft undertone to his conscious thoughts, peeking out from hiding once in a while. He found the need for something to separate him from reality and at times he'd almost forget about it, only to remember and realize that he could never really forget. That on some levels, it was always there, rearing its ugly head.

"Uncle Mark?"

Mark was on auto-pilot, "It's a really scary disease Kitty. It's terrifying; for the people who have it and for the friends of those people." He couldn't talk about it with her- not when she had to deal with her own problems. He didn't want to do that to her.

"Did Angel have it?" Kat asked quietly and the name caused Mark's breath to hitch,

"Angel?"

"Mimi's friend- the one that Collins loves," she specified.

Mark felt himself hardening, removing himself from the fact and in turn, dulling the emotion that came with the memory of Angel's funeral. "Yeah. Angel died from AIDS."

"Is Roger going to die from AIDS?"

He tightened his grip on her, pleading her silently to stop asking these questions, to just let it go. "Eventually, yeah."

"When?" Kat persisted and Mark shook his head,

"There's no way to tell."

"So… he could…" she couldn't bring herself to say 'die', "Go next month?"

"Yeah. Or he could live for the next ten years."

He wasn't looking at anything anymore- just staring straight ahead and answering her questions without feeling anything. Or rather, trying not to feel anything. He didn't want to deal with the reality that Mimi would soon be gone, that Collins would follow and that, in all likelihood, Roger would as well. He didn't want to face the facts that the odds were he'd be alone in the end; so he didn't. He shut himself off.

They rode the train in silence for the next little while, Mark holding Kat, completely oblivious to her tears and everything else around them.

"I'm sorry."

It broke his emotional isolation and Mark asked, "Why?" softly. There was a long silence where Kat didn't answer.

"Why didn't you tell me?" she asked instead.

Mark wasn't sure what they were talking about anymore, "What?"

"After you found out? Roger said that you wanted to tell me yourself; so you knew I didn't know, but you didn't tell me."

"I…" he remembered Collins, and how much help he'd been with helping get Kat back on her feet. "I guess I didn't want you to be afraid of getting close with someone at that point." He did debate telling her about Collins, but left it alone because he knew the philosopher would want to be there for that.

Kat scooted closer to him, taking hold of the ends of his scarf, but the grungy man had gotten off the train long ago, and there was no apparent reason for her actions. That is, until she said, "Do you have AIDS?"

And he saw where her previous questions had come from- not from a desire to hurt him or remind him of his inability to help, but for fear that he held the same fate, however irrational that fear.

"No. No, I don't," he said with certainty and Kat melted into him,

"I don't want to lose anyone else Mark," she cried.

"I know Kitty," Mark whispered, rubbing her shuddering back and wrapping his other arm around her. He felt horrible. "I know, and I'm sorry. I brought you into this, I introduced you to them. I'm sorry." It was his fault for insisting Kat come with him and for a moment he regretted his decision- if Kat was with his parents, she wouldn't be setting herself up for hurt like this.

So what had he really accomplished by refusing to let his parents take her? Yes, he'd saved her from them, but he also encouraged her to open up again, only to have those around her die on her. He brought her into his nightmare, and now he was wondering which option was really worse. He was wondering what was going through his sister's mind when she made her decision on who to leave her kids with, and he wondered what had gone through his mind when he accepted.

"I don't want to lose anyone," Kat repeated in broken, fragmented speech and Mark nodded, wondering which one of them needed a therapist more.

"Me neither Kitty," he whispered, rubbing her back and holding her until their stop came.

- - - - -

"Can we go home? Please? Mark, I want to go home," Kat begged into his ear. So far she had only called him 'Mark' when she was too upset to remember the 'Uncle'.

As much as he wanted to give in to her pleas, he knew that this was the only way. "No," he said firmly, putting a hand on her back and guiding her to the office. He consulted the slip in his hand and Kat turned around, stopping them abruptly.

"Please Mark." She had tears in her eyes and her hands were gripping his jacket, "Please don't make me do this. Mark, I want to go home. I don't feel well, please."

"You'll be fine Kitty," he reassured softly, turning her around and pulling her into him. Her head shook in disagreement and her body shook from tears.

"Fuck Mark," she whispered, her hands pushing the collar of her coat into her face, "I feel sick- it hurts. Please. Let's just go home."

He didn't say anything and she stopped talking when she realized that there wasn't any way she was going to get out of this.

- - - - -

The office was smaller than Kat thought it would've been- there was a professional and impersonal couch, a chair, a small black and steel coffee table and the shelves that made up the walls were filled sparsely with odd mechanical trinkets that didn't seem to have a purpose other than show.

She was sitting on the couch, squirming uncomfortably. The last thing she wanted to do was say something she regretted; if she wanted to stay with Mark she would have to watch her mouth.

"Hi; I'm Doctor John Michaels- you must be Katharine."

Jumping at the sudden sound and cringing at the name, impulse made her say, "Don't call me that," before she could swallow it.

"Pardon?" the Michaels asked, taking a seat in the chair across from Kat and setting his pad on his crossed knees. He seemed like a pleasant enough person, but the situation didn't allow Kat the luxury of being anything other than terrified.

"Katharine," she whispered; she wasn't that person any more and Kat hated being reminded of that person.

"Why?" the man asked and Kat knew enough not to tell him the real reason. Saying something like that was a recipe for disaster.

"Just don't," she settled on, feeling the bile crawling slowly up her throat and her heart starting to hammer her ears. "Please?"

"Okay." Michaels nodded and made a note on his paper. "What should I call you then?"

In and out, Kat reminded herself, breathe. "Kat."

"Okay." Michaels nodded again and made another note on his paper. Then he put the pen down and leaned back into the chair, smiling encouragingly at Kat.

It lasted a couple of seconds before Kat broke and asked, "Are we done?"

"We've just stated," Michaels' said, sounding a little surprised.

Kat swallowed, feeling a lump forming in her throat. She could tell she was sweating and her palms were clammy even though they were pressed firmly against her jeans. "Can I go?" she asked, toes clenching and unfurling inside her shoes.

Michael smiled patiently at her. "You can go whenever you want- I'm not forcing you here. No one's forcing you to come here."

Kat wondered just how much he knew about her situation. The hand she managed to pry off her jeans started playing with the opposite arm and she shook her head in disagreement. "Mark is- no," she corrected herself, "Mark isn't. My grandparents are."

The doctor made a note on his pad and Kat felt herself twitch. "How is it you see that?" he asked.

"If I don't come, I'll have to leave Uncle Mark," she whispered and the doctor made another note,

"So you think you'll have to leave your Uncle-"

"No," she interrupted, so meekly he almost ignored her. "I know it. Look," she glanced at the door, reminding herself that Mark was out there and that she was doing this for him. "I just want to go home right now," she admitted.

The man nodded, but Kat didn't feel he quite understood what he was nodding along to. "Home... Where is home for you?"

"Christ, what kind of-" Every therapist-related stereotype was at that moment confirmed by this Doctor Michaels and any strand of control Kat had felt before over her body started to dissolve. "Mark," she managed to get out, "Mark's home for me. I feel sick-" she leaned over, hugging her legs, trying to get rid of the unsettling nausea in her stomach and chest. "I don't want to be here. I never wanted to be here."

"Where's here?"

Where the hell else would 'here' be? What the hell kind of question was that? "This fucking office!" Kat snapped, "With you and your false voice! These fucking walls and the fucking furniture and… FUCK!"

"Look Katharine," Michaels said with a little bit of concern in his voice, "There's no need to get-"

"Fuck off," Kat growled, "And don't call me Katharine. That's not my name any more. Katharine died with her family," she whispered, her voice an octave lower than it normally was. "Katharine's not here any more."

"I think-"

"Fuck what you think!" Kat yelled. "Fuck it," she repeated softer. "Just… fuck it. Fuck."

She buried her head in her hands, not really understanding what was happening to her or how to get herself to stop feeling whatever the hell she was feeling.

"Are you finished?" the man asked.

Kat knew when she was being patronized and she didn't appreciate it. "Fuck you, you fucking yuppie," she said slowly, pronouncing every word clearly. Then she got up and stormed out of the room, slamming to door so hard Mark jumped in his seat.

He quickly stood up, discarding the national geographic he'd been thumbing through. "Kitty?" he asked nervously. There had been shouting, but he thought it was coming from the other room. And if he was hearing Kat…

"Mark," she said softly, "I want to go home. Take me home… please?"

She was just barely holding herself together and Mark nodded, putting his arm around her. "Hey, it's alright Kitty," he muttered as she started crying, "It's alright. I'm going to take you home, you're alright…"

- - - - -

"So I assume it went well," Roger commented dourly from on top the table and Mark glared at him,

"Yeah, it went fantastically well," he hissed. Roger had seen everything that had happened after they'd come home, and knew full well that things had not gone well. It was so not good. He tried getting a hold of Joanne at the office, but she wasn't answering and no one was at her and Maureen's place. Something bad had happened in that office, but Kat wasn't telling and the therapist had yet to call- that was, if he even planned on calling.

"What happened?"

Mark turned around from making a sandwich, the question prompting one of his own, "Why? What happened between you two?"

Roger shrugged, "We talked. Is she okay?" he asked quietly, nodding towards the room.

"I don't know," Mark answered miserably, cutting the sandwich's he'd been making in half. One he put on a plate and the other he handed off to Roger as he passed the table, "Eat it and take your AZT."

"Yes Mommy," Roger growled, but Mark ignored him, heading to Kat's room.

The phone rang before he could get there. He stopped and looked at Roger, who looked back, shaking his head. "Screen it," he suggested through a mouthful of food.

Mark rolled his eyes; it was probably the therapist anyways. Still, on the off chance that it was his parents, he waited until the answering machine picked up.

"Hello, this is a message for Mark Cohen. It's Dr.-"

Mark picked up the phone, "Dr. Michaels? Hey, it's Mark."

"Hello Mark. I'm Dr. Michaels, the therapist your niece saw this afternoon."

"I know," Mark said and he heard the other man clearing his throat,

"Then I assume you also know that things did not end well."

"No," Mark agreed patiently. Roger had wandered over to the couch and was leaning against the arm of it, staring at him.

"I'd say that they ended rather badly," Dr. Michaels continued. "Katharine's dealing with her loss in a very unhealthy way. Some of the things she said…" there was hesitance and Mark felt his stomach sinking even before the doctor said, "I'm concerned that she may be suicidal."

The moment Mark heard suicidal his mind immediately jumped to April. Roger's April. Roger, who was staring at him, concern shining in his eyes. Mark cupped the speaker, "Roger, could you give me a minute?" he asked.

The request surprised Roger, who stood up, "Why? What happened?"

"Roger," Mark insisted and Roger looked at him.

"Whatever," he muttered, grabbing his guitar and storming out the door without a coat. Mark sighed. He didn't know how to explain to Roger why he didn't want him to hear this.

Static on the other end and, "Mark, are you still there?"

"Yeah," Mark reassured, "Suicidal…" he whispered, "Are you sure?"

"Has she ever given any indication that she's harming herself intentionally?" Dr. Michaels asked and Mark thought back to all the time he'd spent with her.

"No- no, not at all," he muttered. "I… I thought she was coping well." He could almost see that idea hurling itself out the window.

"Well, I wish you all the luck and suggest you find a new therapist for Katharine. It's apparent my methods do not work." The click was abrupt and Mark held the phone for a moment, mulling over the new information.

Could Kat be suicidal?

- - - - -

"Hey Kitty," he whispered, pushing the fabric aside and sticking his head into the room, "You awake sweetheart?"

The lump on the bed turned around to face the door, and he could see Kat's face, dry but helpless. "Are you going to sleep soon Mark?" she whispered and he nodded. He hadn't been planning on it, but he knew Kat needed him to be.

"Just let me go get changed and I'll be back in a second, alright?" he asked. Kat didn't say anything so he backed out of the room and walked past Roger, who was glaring at him, tucked into a blanket with steaming mug of tea in hand.

"I don't like tea," Roger grumbled from the couch and Mark started changing under the Perch,

"Roger, just drink it," he pleaded. The last thing he needed to be dealing with was a moody Roger. "It's too late for coffee, and I don't want you to get sick."

"I don't want to get sick either Mark," Roger commented dryly from the couch and Mark turned around, holding his sleeping-shirt,

"Then humor me." Roger stared at him for a moment and Mark quickly pulled on the shirt, feeling oddly self-conscious. "What?" he asked, smoothing out the shirt and heading towards Kat's room.

"You need to eat more," Roger said softly and Mark almost started laughing,

"I eat enough Roger."

But Roger wouldn't be laughed off; "Seriously Mark." There was a moment of silence between them before they both opened their mouth, trying to speak at the same time.

"You go," Mark offered and Roger nodded, sitting up straighter,

"You've been dodging the question for long enough-" Mark knew what was coming, and he desperately didn't want to confront it, especially with Roger. "Mark, how are you doing? Seriously?"

"Seriously?" Mark asked a little peeved that Roger expected him to share his life when he was hiding so much of his own away from him. He took a deep breath to calm himself down, to make sure he didn't say something he regretted. "Seriously, I need to make sure Kitty's okay," he answered. It wasn't the answer Roger was hoping for- probably the one he was dreading, but Mark couldn't deal with anything other than Kat.

Not now at least.

The second he got through the fabric separation he heard Kat call out, "Mark?"

"Yeah Kitty?" he asked, crossing the floor and pulling back the covers on the bed. Kat moved to accommodate his presence.

"What were you talking to Roger about?" she asked once he'd settled down.

Mark let her get comfortable in his arms before he answered, stalling. Roger was frustrating him, and even though he welcomed the newly formed relationship him and Kat seemed to enjoy, he wasn't willing to bring up the topic. "Your doctor called," he said, because that was, in all honesty, part of the problem.

"And?" Kat asked- Mark could almost see her shrinking.

"Kitty, he's concerned that…" and that was when Mark realized there was no easy way to say it. He just had to out and say it; "He's worried you're going to kill yourself Kitty," he admitted finally, his grip on her tightening.

Kat response was immediate and confident, "He's a fucking moron Mark. I wouldn't do that."

Mark wasn't convinced. "He said that what you said-"

"I was frustrated Mark;" Kat whispered, "Scared, upset, angry. The questions he was asking were making me go crazy." She felt the pit in her stomach grow just from the memory of it, "But I don't want to… do that Mark."

"Kitty, if he thinks that-"

"I'll go talk to him and explain myself," Kat reassured, knowing the consequent problem that came with the diagnosis that she was suicidal. Mark didn't relax his grip and she found herself, for maybe the first time ever, comforting Mark.

"Mark," she whispered, giving it a beat to make sure he was listening. "As much as I… want to be with them," she swallowed down tears, "They didn't have a choice. I do and… can we just leave it at that?"

They couldn't, but he didn't want to push her any more. "Promise me you won't kill yourself Kat," he begged, holding her even tighter, "Promise me." He wouldn't be able to handle it if another person he knew died. If they took their life away needlessly.

"I promise Mark," Kat whispered and that was enough for him.

"I love you Kitty," he muttered, kissing her hair and smiling as she wiggled into him,

"I love you too Mark."

- - - - -

Long after Mark's breaths had evened out, Kat lay awake, staring into the dim darkness, lost.

Lost identity, lost emotion, lost reality.

Lost.

**A/N: Sorry for the long delay- had a paper due =) Anyhow, thank you thank you!! to those of you that reviewed and I hope you review again!**


	19. January 18th 3:02 am EST

_For something more than friendship;_

**The Loft**

**January 18****th**** 3:02 am EST**

"ROGER! Roger, help!"

Roger bolted up in bed, wondering who the hell was calling him at… the digital alarm clock shoved into the corner of the loft was dead. The power was out. Again. So then the light was coming from…?

Outside. Right. Because the moon gave off light. He smiled sheepishly at himself.

"Please, Roger! I need you!"

The panicked voice snapped him back to reality. That voice. He knew that voice.

He gave himself a second to fight through the grogginess of sleep and realize that it was Mimi calling him. Mimi! That was who it was!

Getting tangled in his blankets in a vain attempt to run to the door, his thoughts solely on Mimi, Roger almost fell off the Perch and to his death. He didn't really know how he managed to get down the ladder in one piece, but there was a thump against the door and all the anger he'd had towards her dissipated instantly. He didn't know what she wanted, but he had a slight inkling of what it was about. He just hoped that he was wrong. Oh God, he hoped that he was wrong.

The door wouldn't open fast enough even though he threw all his weight against it; "Mimi!"

"Roger," the cough that followed drew his attention to the ground, where Mimi was collapsed into a heap. "Roger, I'm cold," she whispered and he dropped down to his knees, "I'm so cold. Why is it freezing? Roger, why is it so cold? I'm shivering… I- I don't know why. Roger-"

Mimi was shivering, so violently that Roger took her arm and gently pulled her towards him, "Baby, baby, come here," he whispered, snaking an arm under her knees and the other behind her back. "Hey, shh," he muttered into her head as he lifted her off the ground. She was so light and fragile it terrified him. "You're going to be okay baby," he comforted, moving across the darkness and praying that he wouldn't trip over anything, "Just breathe, just try to relax…"

He set her down on the couch and sat beside her as she curled her knees into her chest. Pushing a loose hair away from her face Mimi managed to give him a single look before casting her eyes down. "I can't Roger," she choked out, "It hurts. This hurts," she started shaking, clamping her fingers around her wrist. She rocked for a moment and then shouted out, "OH GOD it hurts!" burying her head into her knees and sobbing.

Something stabbed Roger in the chest and his mouth went dry. "Hey, baby…" he tried to get her attention but she just rocked back and forth, "Meems, sweetheart, look at me," he urged, placing his hands on her knees and trying to get closer to her. "Meems, love, look at me," he requested again, sliding a hand into the darkness and pulling her chin out.

Roger stopped.

The moonlight was hitting her hair, and despite her sad, doleful eyes all he could think about was the first time they'd met. It had been dark then as well, and the moon had been the only source of light. She'd conned him out of her stash, and now… was she serious this time?

If she'd come to him, then she must have been serious. "You're going to be okay," he said firmly, gently. "Do you believe me?"

Mimi stared at him for a second, considering his statement and the conviction in his voice. Then she dropped her head shamefully, "I don't-"

Roger cut her off, "You have to believe me baby, you have to believe that this'll get better," he insisted. He couldn't stress the point enough.

"I believe you," Mimi whispered after a moment, and whether or not she really meant it wasn't as important to Roger as the fact that she'd said it in the first place.

"Good," he smiled; it was the first step. He had time to convince her of it later, but for now they were good. "Come here," he muttered, collecting her small frame into his arms gently.

Mimi wrapped her arms around his neck, coherent enough to feel being lifted up. "What are you doing?" she asked. Not that she really cared.

Roger kissed the side of her head gently, watching his step as he backed into the bathroom. "I'm going to wash you up," he said, setting her down on the toilet and turning on the light. For once he was glad of the lacking wattage- bright lighting probably wouldn't help Mimi at the moment. "And then you're going to crash on the couch and I'll cook up a little something without burning myself and we'll cuddle up together with lots of blankets and wait until it passes. Sound good?" he was still whispering, but there was no way that Mark and Kat were still sleeping.

Mimi was leaning forward on the toilet seat, holding herself so tightly marks were beginning to appear on her arms. "Will it work?" she asked, moaning softly as another shudder overtook her body.

"I…" Roger faltered. Would it work? "I don't know," he admitted, "I've never tired. But we can try," he suggested. Mimi nodded, her fingers digging into her flesh and Roger gently eased them out, "Come here," he whispered.

He kissed her hand and gently began removing her clothes while she shivered under his touch and from the pains.

A beeper went off in the other room. "Meems, did you take your AZT last night?" Roger asked softly, knowing there was a good chance she'd missed it. Mimi shook her head, tears beginning to push out from her eyes. "Shh, stay here and I'll go grab us some."

He kissed Mimi's head, holding her close for a moment before turning around. Mark's presence was alarming, but also expected and slightly comforting. He was caught between the shadow of the loft and the dimmed light of the bathroom. Roger could make out Mark mouthing, "I got it," before disappearing into the shadow.

Roger turned his attention back to Mimi, who was now curled up on the floor. "You okay love?" he asked nervously and Mimi nodded,

"Fuck," she mumbled into her knees, "Fuck." She started muttering Spanish and Roger plugged the tub, starting the water and waiting for it to heat, gauging the temperature by sticking his hand underneath it.

"You'll feel better when we get you cleaned up," he reassured. Mimi didn't respond to him. She didn't say another word as Roger stood her up, stripped off the last of her clothes, and half-lifted, half-led her steps over the tub and into the warm water.

Mimi moaned and Roger helped her gently lower herself into the water. He knelt down beside her, his hands in the water, watching her closely.

"How does that feel?" he asked, one hand finding its way to her knee and the other to her hand. He squeezed her hand and she squeezed it back. "Better?" he offered, desperate for feedback.

"A little," Mimi muttered. Her eyes were squeezed shut and she was biting her lip. "I'm sorry Roger, I'm-"

Roger lifted his hand away from her knee and placed a finger delicately on his lips. "None of that now," he whispered, "Don't you even dare think about that now, okay? Just focus on feeling better… want me to get the soap?" he asked and Mimi hesitated a second before nodding.

He tired to let go of her hand but Mimi tightened it the second he started pulling away. Mimi's eyes were still pressed shut so he reached for the cheap bar. Dipping it into the water, he whispered, "I'm going to need my other hand Meems."

Mimi softly exhaled, reluctantly letting go of his hand. She sunk further into the water.

Roger regarded her for a moment before shuffling down a little bit, washing her feet under the water. "You want to crash here for a little while?" he asked, "I'm sure Mark won't mind. Me and Collins finished fixing my… old, old room up, so I'll have my room back soon." He was rambling as he progressed up her body, and they both knew it. "It wasn't that hard," he said, "Just took a couple pieces of plywood, some nails and some paint… well, Collins got all the stuff, so I don't really know where we got it all from, but- tilt your head back Meems?" he asked, starting on her hair, "I've learned to just stop asking where Collins gets all this stuff from-"

"Roger?" Mimi interrupted. She sounded weaker than she had been and Roger stopped rinsing her hair,

"Yeah baby?"

"Shut-up," she requested softly and Roger nodded. It wasn't often that he went off like that, and he wasn't sure exactly what had sparked it.

"You ready to get out Meems?" he asked reaching for the towels and Mimi nodded. He lifted her to her feet and steadied her, quickly wrapping the first towel around her shoulders, rubbing her arms in attempt to heat her up and dry her off faster. The other he draped over her hair.

"I'm cold," Mimi whispered and Roger nodded,

"I know love- let's get you into some clothes." He helped her out of the tub, sitting her down on the edge of the seat. "Dry off as much as you can, okay?" he said, tousling her hair for a moment.

When he turned around to get some clothes there was a glass of water lay on the ground by the door beside a bottle of AZT that rested on top of a pair of boxers and a sweatshirt. Roger silently thanked Mark and took the items. "Open up Meems," he ordered gently, popping the lid of the AZT bottle open and taking out two pills. Mimi huddled under the towels and obediently opened her mouth. Roger placed the capsule inside of it and handed the water to her. The glass shook as Mimi lifted it to her lips, but none of the water spilt as she passed it back.

Setting aside the AZT and water, Roger shook open the sweater and helped Mimi into it, shaking open the boxers and doing the same. "You okay?" he asked as he helped her stand up and she nodded, swaying uncertainly.

"Fine."

"Come'on," he whispered, not believing her. He bent down and lifted her knees, cradling her to his chest once again. Mimi clutched onto him as he carried her to the couch. "Stay here for a second," he whispered setting her down gently and covering her with the afghan. He kissed her softly and then lingered, whispering, "We're going to be okay."

Mimi cuddled into the blanket, coughing weakly, but not answering.

Roger went back into the bathroom and let the water out. He turned around, once again not all too surprised by Mark's figure in the doorway. "Thanks," he smiled gratefully, "For, you know."

Mark nodded. "Take your AZT," he said softly and it occurred to Roger he hadn't taken one himself.

"Thanks," he muttered, complying.

"Is Mimi okay?" Mark asked quietly and Roger looked past him at the vague outline of the couch.

He sighed, "No. But hopefully she will be… Mark," he said, suddenly realizing the implications of Mimi's presence, "We can't afford to send her to rehab."

Mark shrugged; "We could ask-"

"No," Roger killed the idea before it had time to fester, "I want to help her… I'm not going to be able to work Mark."

Mark nodded, "I know."

It was like Roger didn't hear him, "I mean, with Mimi like this… someone's going to have to be there all the time for her."

"I know," Mark said, uncrossing his arms.

"Kat and you've already got enough of your plates without having to worry about Mimi all the time…"

"I know," Mark repeated, a little louder.

This time Roger looked up at Mark, whether he heard or not, "It's just-"

"Roger," Mark said and Roger stopped. "Look," Mark smiled sadly, "I've been through this. It's okay. I know. Just do whatever you have to do to make her better, and I'll support you any way that I can," he promised and Roger felt emotion swelling up his heart.

Between Mimi's decision and the pain he knew she was going to go through and Mark's unwavering loyalty, he thought he was going to burst. "Thanks Mark," he whispered, refusing to cry.

Mark smiled at him despondently, "What are friends for?"

"Friends don't…" Roger trailed off.

Mark wasn't his friend. Friends ran away from their problems, left you behind in their escape. Friends allowed themselves to be swayed into abandoning you during your darkest moments to pursue what was in their best interest. Friends would leave you hanging with a promise to come back when needed. Friends gave you money and food and didn't suffer with you and maybe, even, because of you. Friends slipped away the second it was inconvenient. Friends gave up on you and got new friends; friendship was not forever.

Friends took and took and took and all Mark ever did was give.

Roger was a friend, and he knew that, as much as he wanted it to change. Mark wasn't a friend. Mark was so much more than a friend. Roger couldn't put into words what he was, so he wasn't going to try. "I just, I can't send her to rehab. I can't, and we can't afford it."

"It's okay Roger," Mark repeated softly, entirely serious, "Don't worry. Now go take care of her."

Roger looked at him and after a moment nodded. "Thank you," he whispered. As he passed Mark in the door way he lingered a second as their shoulders connected.

Mark wasn't his friend. Mark was his lifeline.

Mimi's head was under the blanket when Roger got back to the couch so he sat down beside her, placing a hand on top of it. "Mimi, love, are you alright?" he asked softly, wondering what part of her body he was touching.

The body moved and Mimi's head popped out of the end of the blanket and into Roger's lap. Roger placed a hand on her head and run his fingers lightly through her hair, "Hi baby," he whispered.

"Roger…" Mimi was crying. Roger's hand started moving back and forth on what he assumed was her arm. Before he offered anything, before he dedicated himself to her fully, he needed to know that she'd finally figured it out on her own. That she was ready to really go through with it. That she'd found the motivation to try.

That she was making her own decisions.

Mimi's hands were clutching his shirt, quivering in desperation. Her shivering had subsided somewhat, not nearly as violent as it had been before. Benny had paid for a two day detox at a private centre, but she wasn't shaking from that, or the urge.

Mimi was worried that she'd taken too long. That the uncommunicated ultimatum for help was already past due. "Roger," she whispered, pressing into him, wishing it was over already. Wishing she didn't have to go through this. "Roger, I need… help… doing this."

It was a bittersweet admission and Roger was feeling the full weight of it. It was what he'd been waiting for and dreading- the true test of whether or not they could make it through. "Mimi, we'll help you. I promise," he pledged.

"I don't want to- to go back to rehab," Mimi sobbed, shaking in Roger's lap. The two days had been hell enough and she didn't know if she would ever be able to make it through the entire program, even if she somehow managed to pay for one. Roger lifted her shoulders up and maneuvered his body so she was lying in his arms. He rubbed her back, trying to soothe her,

"It's alright Meems," he muttered into her ear, "You aren't going to go back to rehab."

Mimi curled into his body, knowing somewhere in her subconscious that it wasn't her first time and it wasn't by a long shot her last. "I don't want to feel this way Roger, I don't." The itch was crawling into her body, paining her. It was all she could do to just clamp down on Roger's arm and shake. "Make it stop," she whispered, begging for a release, "Make it stop, please."

Roger held her tighter. "I know, I'm trying baby," he muttered, angry with himself for feeling so helpless.

"I don't want to feel this way," Mimi repeated, breaking down.

"No one wants to feel that way. You're alright now though," Roger promised, "I'll help you through it."

"We'll all help you through it," Mark added softly, watching worriedly from the sidelines. Under the look of worry Roger shot him he could see that Roger was grateful for his presence.

Mimi didn't turn to look at him- it was debatable if she even noticed that another person had joined their hushed conversation, "How?"

Roger looked up at Mark for direction. Mark was good at this type of thing- he'd helped Roger get off smack after all. "Well, uh, we'll need to watch you, you know, to make sure you don't run off to get another hit," Mark started nervously- the implications of the statement was a huge infringement on someone's personal freedom and he didn't know how Mimi would react to it. "Roger was always trying to get away from me and Collins," he explained and Roger nodded along with his words, knowing what he was about to propose. "Would it, uh, be alright if you moved in here? At least for now? That way we could, um, help you."

"Is… that okay?" Mimi asked hesitantly, looking up at Roger.

Roger kissed her, "Of course it's alright. You practically live here already."

Mimi turned her head to Mark, still unable to look him in the eye, "When?" she asked with a shaky voice.

"Uh, tonight," Mark said, "Right now."

Mimi whimpered and her nails dug themselves into Roger's back, "I don't even get-"

"Well…" Roger felt his resolve beginning to slip at her tone and looked up to Mark, who shook his head,

"No. It's now or never Mimi," he said softly and Mimi bit her lip.

She buried her head into Roger's neck and nodded. "A-alright," she conceded, her voice muffled by Roger, "O-okay."

"Are you sure about this?" Roger asked cautiously. He didn't want to make her change her mind but he wanted them to be positive. He wanted there to be no mistake about it in the fights that were to come. Mimi nodded, not trusting herself to speak. "Mark?"

"I got it," Mark said, heading out of the loft door and down the stairs to grab some of Mimi's stuff.

Mimi, who'd never really stopped shaking, was doing so almost violently again. Roger did his best to cradle her. "I don't know if I can do this," she whispered, fresh tears starting down her face.

"You don't have to know," Roger replied, surprising her. It didn't sound all too supportive and Mimi was set on giving up until he muttered, "Because I do, and I know you can. I love you Meems," he muttered, kissing her hair and holding her tightly.

And he did believe it, with all his heart.

After months and months of trying to get Mimi to want to get clean… it was happening.

It was finally happening.

_A/N: Sorry bout the shortness. Thanks for all the reviews, and I would love any and all comments/questions/concerns. _


	20. January 18th 5:37 pm EST

_January 18__th__ 5:37 pm EST_

_Joanne's Office_

"Sorry Mr. Cohen," the young lady apologized nervously, "Miss. Jefferson will only be a couple more minutes."

Mark nodded, but the lady was gone before he could thank her for the heads up or really, say anything at all. He'd been sitting in a chair for the past ten minutes but now he was feeling restless so he stood up.

Leaving Kat alone at the loft with Roger and Mimi was a decision that he regretted making, and now all he wanted to do was get back there. A quick call to Collins updated him on the situation, and although he didn't sound altogether surprised he promised to be at the loft within the hour.

So Kat wasn't completely alone with an ex-addict and his hopeful-soon-to-be ex-addict girlfriend.

The sentence alone made Mark question his own judgments as a guardian.

Not that he hadn't offered to bring Kat along; she had refused, bidding him goodbye and disappearing promptly into her room while Roger watched Mimi sleep fitfully on the couch. The hysterics hadn't started yet but Mark knew they were coming. He just hoped that Roger could handle it when they did.

God, he hoped _he _could handle it when they did.

His pacing had started without his notice and had led him behind the desk and fingering Joanne's chair. The space on the desk was organized neatly- neater than Mark would be able to manage in any case. There was an in/out tray and a calendar with highlighting, underlines, post-it notes, the whole ten yards- there were paper clips and thumb tacks and other kinds of clips Mark didn't know the name of, a pile of post-it notes, the huge computer screen that took up almost half the desk and beside it, sitting in a modest frame in front of a tray that looked like it was bursting with papers, a picture of Maureen and her, Maureen, for once, with her eyes solely on Joanne.

Mark stared at the picture, wondering if he owned one of Maureen like that. With so much devotion and love in her eyes.

Probably not. It still hurt, even after the years, what Maureen had done to him.

But if Maureen's currently predicament was anything, it was karma.

Mark only felt bad that he didn't have the spite to goad about it. That what Maureen had done to him wasn't enough to give him that spite.

How much further would someone have to push to make him snap? Maureen was Maureen, but if even she couldn't accomplish that, who could? And would that point be a culmination of events, or a single, monumental one? Mark could only guess the first.

He could only hope it was at the right person.

The urge to pick up the photo, to feel its existence in his hands was overwhelming and he couldn't help but give into it. But the moment the frame was in his hands, surprisingly heavy, the pile of papers it'd been adorning came sliding out; to add to Mark's horror, Joanne chose that moment to make an appearance.

"Mark?" she asked, her tone taking Mark back to the day he first met her on Maureen's soundstage.

"Joanne?" he said sheepishly, holding the photograph in one hand and pressing a few of the more rambunctious papers into the side of the desk.

Joanne closed the file folder she was holding and came around to the desk, "What are you doing?" she asked curiously, without suspicion. If it was Roger, she would be worried. If it was Collins, she would be worried. She'd be expecting it if it was Maureen, but it was Mark, and Mark was still somewhat of a mystery to her.

Mark smiled guiltily at her, "I wanted to see the photo," he muttered, still holding it and attempting to aid in the clean up with one hand.

"Mhmm," Joanne nodded along, waiting for more, but there wasn't.

"I didn't know…" Mark gestured helplessly at the papers splayed across the desk, ruining the organized image.

Joanne laughed at his expression. "Let's just keep this as our little secret," she suggested, nodding towards the mess and Mark lowered his hands, defeated,

"Okay," he mumbled, resigned to be forever the awkward one. Even if the situation wasn't awkward, which it was a little, he would've been awkward.

Joanne held out her hand, "The picture?" she asked and Mark surrendered it immediately.

"Sorry," he muttered, going over to the chair across the desk, where he should've stayed the first time. "I just…"

"It's a good picture, isn't it?" Joanne guessed and Mark nodded. She shoved a couple more papers and what looked like a candy bar wrapper back into the tray, replacing the picture in front of it lovingly. "One of the only one's I have of her like that."

Mark swallowed, his throat uncomfortably dry; "Is there anything I can drink in here?"

"Of course!" Joanne quickly got him a bottle of water and he opened it, guzzling half of it down in one go.

"I don't really understand the concept of bottled water," he said, moving the bottle away from his face and looking at it thoughtfully, "It always seemed like a-"

"-a money-making scheme?" Joanne finished for him and Mark nodded. "Yeah- I've got a water bottle, but the office buys them, so why not exploit the perks while you can."

"Touché," Mark muttered, sinking into the cushions of the chair. Joanne sat down across from him and pulled a file towards her.

"I was just in a meeting with Mr. Froban, the guy from your sister's law firm- But first…" she put down the pile and leaned across the table. "Has Roger said anything about Mimi lately?" she asked, genuinely concerned.

"Why?" Joanne wasn't known for telepathy, so what had tipped her off?

Joanne shook her head, troubled, "She called me the other night, sobbing. I couldn't understand a word she was saying. She was in absolute hysterics- I swear, I don't know if I'm more worried about Maureen's mood swings or Mimi's, if either of them get pregnant- Mark! Breathe!"

Mark had chosen 'swings or Mimi's' to take a sip of water, and accidently inhaled the liquid at the word pregnant. He hacked and coughed for a little while, bent over the chair and turning red in the face he was sure. At one point he felt Joanne's hand rubbing his back, up and down, up and down, and soon he managed to clear his airway enough to get a decent breath.

"Jeez Mark, are you okay?" Joanne asked with a hint of panic in her voice. "What the heck was that all about?"

Mark shook his head; Maureen hadn't told her. Maureen hadn't told Joanne. There was a huge red flashing, wailing warning that was going off in Mark's head and he didn't know how to turn it off. She hadn't told Joanne. Maureen hadn't told Joanne.

"Mark, can you hear me?"

Yes, Mark answered silently. Maureen hadn't told Joanne and he sure as hell knew that _Mark_ couldn't tell Joanne.

"'id…" He hacked once more and sat up and swallowing whatever was in his throat with difficulty. He tried to speak once again. "Did you go see what was wrong?"

"With you?" Joanne asked, thoroughly confused.

Mark shook his head, just now noticing the mess he'd made on the floor. "Sorry about that," he said, making to get up but Joanne pulled him back down into his seat,

"Mark, did I go see what was wrong with what?"

At least they weren't talking about pregnancy any longer. "Did you go see what was wrong with Mimi? That night?"

"No- I assumed that Roger was there… Are they having a fight?" Joanne asked and Mark felt a stab at how disconnected their lives had become. Of course, Mimi had only come to Roger this morning, but it still felt like something that Joanne should have known. Her question also brought to light why Roger had been so distant lately- he was having a fight with Mimi about the smack addiction.

"That would make sense…" he muttered and Joanne was still struggling to catch up with the conversation,

"Why?"

"Roger's been acting a… little odd," he decided was the best way to put it. "But Mimi showed up last night shaking and begging Roger for help."

Joanne digested the information. "Is she-"

"Yeah," Mark nodded, wondering what the next couple weeks would hold for them.

"If you need anything Mark," Joanne said, her hand on his and he looked up at her, "Don't hesitate to ask, okay?"

"Okay," Mark whispered, the support making him unexplainably emotional. "Thank you."

"You heard from Collins lately?" Joanne asked, standing up and blowing past the moment. There was disapproval in her voice and Mark reeled from the change,

"I, uh, spoke with him this morning, why?"

"There's been talk about an ATM being compromised… know anything about it?" she asked sternly.

"No." Joanne gave him a look and Mark couldn't help but grin. "Yes. I'll tell him to stop," he promised.

"Well you better do it soon," Joanne warned. She sat down in her chair, pulling the file back towards her, "So about this therapist- what exactly happened?"

After the pregnancy, the withdrawal, and Collins' less than honorable antics, Mark wasn't prepared to talk about it. "You want to go get a coffee first or something?" he asked, standing up. Joanne glanced at him strangely before nodding,

"I could use it."

- - - - -

"Kitty?" Roger asked, poking his head into her room. She was sitting on her bed, cross legged, holding a thick bookish looking thing in her hands, looking like someone who'd just gotten caught. "Sorry," he muttered, looking down at the ground, "I would've knocked but-"

The lack of a door made it impossible. "That's okay," she whispered, slipping the book under her bed and folding her hands neatly against one another. "Did you need something?"

Roger glanced at the couch, Mimi's figure splayed across it. Hot and cold were interchangeable to her and right now she was going through a 'hot' spell. "I needed to go to the bathroom, but I don't want to leave her alone," he whispered, nodding towards the living room and Kat nodded.

"Did you want me to watch her?" Kat asked, pushing herself to the edge of the bed and letting her legs fall off it.

He smiled gratefully, "If you could that would be great." Kat nodded and got up, "Just holler if she wakes up, okay?" Roger asked.

"Okay," Kat whispered, eyeing Mimi as she crossed the loft. The bathroom door shut and Mimi rolled over, her face pressing into the couch.

Kat kept going until she was by Mark's film editing station, wondering if he ever used the stuff. So far she hadn't seen him go near it, but it looked too expensive for him to keep for decoration.

The phone rang and Kat physically jumped before remembering Mimi and lunging at it. She caught it before the second ring whispering, "Hello?" and keeping an eye on Mimi.

"Hi, this is Doctor Michaels- I was wondering if Mr. Cohen was there?"

"This is Kat," she whispered. The anger she felt during the session- if you could call it that, was reemerging.

There was a sigh on the other line, "So I assume Mr. Cohen isn't there? I wanted to speak with him and go over my comments on the report I need to fill out for your… grandparents, is it?"

"No, Uncle Mark isn't here, but you can go over them with me," Kat said, a little nervous. She'd forgotten that part of the deal.

"I'm not sure that's in your best interest…" Dr. Michaels trailed off and Kat bit her lip, feeling herself growing cold.

"You're… telling them I'm suicidal, aren't you?" she asked softly. Mimi twitched in her sleep and Kat felt the room shrink around her.

"I… Are you sure that Mr. Cohen isn't there?" the doctor asked again, sounding like he regretted not hanging up. Maybe he thought that Mark wouldn't have told her.

And it wasn't like she hadn't thought of it before. Who hadn't? Especially in her situation? Was it really that far-fetched of an idea?

"Look Mister," she said softly, making sure to keep her voice low to keep from waking Mimi. She said because she had thought about it and had thought it through. "If I was going to kill myself I would have already done it." There was a sharp intake of breath on the line and Kat kept going, "I'd have done it before I knew all of them. Before I got attached. Before…" she felt tears burning down her cheeks. "My family died. I know how it feels to… lose someone you loved. For them to not be there anymore."

It hurt. It hurt more than she thought she could ever hurt and keep living.

"I love Uncle Mark and Collins and fuck," she looked at the girl on the couch, "Even Roger and Mimi. I know that Mark loves me," it'd been hammered into her so often and Mark had been so kind to her that she really did believe it. "There's no way I'm going to do that to them. I'm sorry I swore at you," she apologized, willing to concede she'd been a little rash. "But can you please tell my grandparents that I'm not suicidal and to fuck off, because I want to live with Mark and not them? That I'm _going_ to live with Mark and not them?"

There was silence on the line and Roger came out of the bathroom. He gave her an odd look but took his seat on the coffee table, where he'd been camping out all day.

"Your grandparents just want you to live in the most stable environment possible Kath- Kat. They just want the best for you."

"I've already told you what the best thing for me was," Kat said shortly, very aware that Roger was listening to the conversation. She couldn't think of anything else to say so she said, "I'm going to hang up now," and did so.

"Who was that?" Roger asked and Kat shrugged,

"Do you mind if… I stay out here with you for a little while?" she asked softly and Roger nodded. He wouldn't ask about her troubled eyes or the fresh tear streaks down her face, but he could sit here with her. It was the least he could do.

Kat sat down in the chair by the head of Mimi's couch, curling up in the armchair.

- - - - -

"Mark," Joanne said seriously. They'd been talking and laughing for the past ten minutes, but it was time to get serious. She took the folder she'd brought along with them and placed it on the table, "The meeting I just had with Mr. Froban?"

Mark sighed, looking over his cup of coffee at Joanne. "Yeah?" he asked miserably.

"Dr. Michaels, the therapist that Kat went to- he wrote a report to send to your Mom and Dad and it…" she tried to think of the gentlest way to put it, but couldn't think of anything except, "He's going to suggest that Kat be moved to a more stable environment."

Mark felt his heart drop, "Why?" he demanded.

"Mark, what happened during that appointment?" Joanne needed to know so she could make sense of what the therapist wrote.

"She didn't want to go," he said, shaking his head, "But I made her. She was only in there for twenty minutes or something. There was a lot of yelling near the end, and she came running out and…" Mark's eyes misted over as the memory started playing back in his mind, "She was crying. Wanted to go home. So I took her home and then he called and…"

Joanne leaned forward a little, "And what Mark?" she encouraged.

He hesitated. "He said she was, uh, suicidal… Joanne," he admitted softly, "I don't think I could handle it if Kat killed herself. I mean…" he took a deep breath, and then plowed on, "Roger and Mimi and Collins- they're not going to have a choice, but Kat… they want so badly to live Joanne. What the hell am I supposed to say to them if Kat's contemplating giving up on life?" He felt the tears and willed them not to fall.

"Mark, you've talked to her, haven't you?" Joanne asked gently and Mark wiped his eyes,

"Yeah. But-"

"Well, what did she say?"

"That he was a fucking moron," Mark reiterated bitterly.

Joanne nodded thoughtfully and looked down at the file for a couple seconds. She closed it. "How is she doing?"

"I… I can't tell Joanne," Mark answered honestly, "I don't know how she used to be… if she was like she is now or different." The question had been plaguing him ever since he'd been in the hospital with Kat for the first time, and he was beyond frustrated that he didn't yet have the answer. But who could he ask that would know?

"Do you think she would… do that?" Joanne asked carefully, and Mark answered,

"No," almost instantly.

"Then trust your instincts," Joanne suggested, "Be cautious, and watch out for the signs- but trust your instincts."

"Yeah," Mark nodded. It made sense. It had to make sense. He resolved to make it make sense. "Okay… Wow." Mark's head dropped.

"You okay?" Joanne asked, more than slightly worried.

"I just…" Mark lifted up his head and what Joanne saw in his eyes made her want to cry. Pure pain, raw and true. "Is it going to be the same when they go?" he asked softly. Pregnancy, withdrawal, malicious activity and suicide all in one go?

No. It wouldn't be the same. It couldn't be the same.

"When who goes Mark?" Joanne probed, having a strong hunch of what Mark was talking about but not sure if he actually wanted to go there. If he brushed her off, she would know that they were done. That Roger would take care of it. And if not Roger then Collins.

But Mark said, "Them," and Joanne knew it was time to talk about it. "Joanne, have you ever asked yourself why something happens to someone else, and not to you?"

**DISEASE. **

It was what they were talking about, without really saying the word.

"Mark, most people live regretting the bad things they've done- not the good things that have kept them safe," Joanne reminded softly. She didn't know where this was leading, but she knew she didn't want to go there.

"Well, Mimi says forget regret, doesn't she?" Mark asked and Joanne nodded hesitantly, "No day but today?"

"Yeah." Joanne risked a smile on the off chance he was finding renewed hope in the words.

He wasn't. "I've been thinking something differently lately."

"Mark, don't do this to yourself," Joanne pleaded. Mark was the stable one of the group. If Mark lost it… everyone would lose it. He was the glue that kept everything together. Everyone together.

More than that, Mark was exposing himself to things better left in the dark and ignored. Ignorance was bliss, wasn't it?

"And it's: prepare to disengage at all times."

"What does that mean?"

Mark wasn't paying attention to her any longer; Mark was just talking. "Roger told me once that I detach from feeling alive-"

Joanne tried to jump in before things got out of hand, "He wasn't being serious-"

"He was," Mark insisted. "Because it's true, and I know it; he does too. But you know why I try to detach from feeling alive?"

"Why?" Joanne asked, even though she had a feeling Mark would continue with or without her prompting.

Mark sighed heavily, the weight of the world expressed in a single bodily action of exhaustion. When he looked up Joanne did start crying.

The life he was living was torturing him slowly. "Because I've got a teenager at home who didn't. Who wasn't prepared. Who didn't detach, and it's destroyed her. You know what she told her therapist before she fled his office? 'Katharine died with her family.' And all I can think about is whether or not I'm going to die with mine. If I'll still be Mark after Roger and Mimi and Collins are gone. If I'm still going to be who I am when I'm alone. I don't know who I am without them…" he trailed off helplessly before picking up again, lost in his own emotions, "I don't want to lose who I am Jo, I really don't. That's why I detached- that's why I hid behind my camera… But now…"

He held Joanne's gaze sadly. "I haven't filmed anything in a long time Jo," he admitted in a scared whisper, "A really long time."

Mark stood up, drained. "I've got to go…" he muttered and he was out the door.

_A/N: Thank you for all the reviews. I hope y'all like this chapter as well :) Please review :)_


	21. January 19th 4:48 pm EST

_Summary: Mark talked to Joanne about Kat's situation and shared with her his new philosophy "prepare to disengage at all times". Mimi asked Roger to help her through withdrawal; Kat talked to her therapist briefly over the phone._

_**January 19**__**th**__** 4:48 pm EST**_

_**Joanne and Maureen's**_

Mark knocked on the door, Kat standing nervously behind him. He couldn't stand leaving her alone again with Roger and a withdrawing Mimi so he brought her along with him to confront Maureen about her baby issues. It had seemed like a good idea at the time.

"This is Joanne and Maureen's place?" Kat asked curiously and Mark nodded, realizing now just how little he'd thought through his plan.

"Yeah," he answered, "Joanne's not going to be home yet and I need to talk with Maureen privately. Could you watch TV for a little while or something?"

Kat leaned against him and he knocked on the door again. "I haven't watched TV in forever…" Kat trailed off, remembering the last time she had. And remembering that she didn't want to remember.

Maureen answered the door and Mark put a hand on Kat's back, almost pushing her into Maureen as they entered the loft.

"Hey- whoa, just come on in, why don't you," Maureen muttered as Mark pushed past her. His glare shut her up and Mark nodded towards the living room,

"The TV's in there, okay Kitty? I'll get you when we need to leave," he gave her a quick kiss on the top of the head, feeling bad for blowing her off the way he was. But it was necessary. Kat gave Maureen a quick wave and left the room, still having the sense to understand when someone needed privacy.

Mark watched her go. Maybe his parents were right. Maybe he had gotten in over his head.

But he had to deal with at least one of the problems he'd discussed, no matter how indirectly, with Joanne yesterday. And that problem was standing right in front of him.

"What the hell got your tights in a bunch," Maureen questioned vindictively and Mark glared at her. "What?" she asked, her voice rising slightly.

Mark took a step forward and lowered his own voice, "You need to tell Joanne."

"Tell Joanne what?" Maureen asked suspiciously and Mark glanced at the living room doorway. There were sounds coming from the television, but he didn't know why he was so paranoid. Kat wouldn't tell anybody about it even if she did overhear the conversation.

If he was honest with himself, he would have to admit that he didn't want Joanne to walk in on him- to know that he'd known and hadn't told her.

"Mark!" Maureen snapped, getting impatient and, as a result, irritated.

"You have to tell Joanne about the baby," he said, his voice level.

Maureen froze. "What?" she asked, all previous traces of anger disappearing.

"You have to tell Joanne about the baby," Mark repeated calmly.

"What did you say to her?" Maureen hissed, taking a threatening step forward that sent Mark a cautious step back.

Mark swallowed. He'd always been a little afraid of Maureen, because he didn't know if he'd be able to fight back. If Maureen hit him, he'd probably just take it and let her walk all over him. Collins was right. He was whipped. And by the worst possible person. "I didn't say anything to her," he said evenly but his palms were starting to get clammy.

"Then how do you know I haven't told her anything?" Maureen demanded and Mark shrugged,

"I was at her office yesterday-"

"Why?"

Mark almost rolled his eyes. Joanne's protectiveness over Maureen was nothing in comparison to Maureen's jealousy when it came to the lawyer. "About Kat," he said, wanting to get off the topic as quickly as possible. He was still ambivalent on his thoughts about that. "She doesn't know and you have to tell her Maureen!"

A couple quick steps took Maureen to the kitchen counters. "Why?" she asked softly, leaning against them.

"What do you mean 'why'?" Mark was at a loss for words.

"Why should I tell her?"

A foreboding thought entered Mark's mind; "Maureen…" What was it about ending life that refused to leave him alone? It plagued him everywhere he went. "You aren't…" he trialed off and she stared at him.

They'd never been good at communicating without words.

Then light bulb turned on above Maureen's head. "You think- Mark!" she hissed, genuinely upset.

"What, you're saying you didn't think about it at all?" Mark demanded. He knew Maureen, and he resented her getting mad at him for something she'd done. Maureen had thought about because she always wanted to take the easy way out, and that was the easiest way out there was.

Maureen turned around and opened a cupboard- avoiding him. "Does it matter if I did?" she asked, turning back around, staring at the plate in her hands.

"It matters if you are."

Maureen slowly lifted her eyes from the plate. She was crying. "I'm not," she whispered and Mark felt relief. Selfish relief that he wouldn't have to deal with her emotional crisis after the fact. He was the only one who knew- the burden would ultimately fall on him. It always did.

But he couldn't help but think what that meant for her and her relationship with Joanne. "Then you have to tell Joanne," he pressed and Maureen shifted the plate in her hands. "Maureen, the longer you keep this from her…" Joanne would have wanted to know as soon as possible. He'd want to know as soon as possible. "She's going to find out eventually," he added, feeling sympathy for the tears that slid off the plate.

"Mark, I don't..." Maureen took a second to collect herself. "We've been doing so good lately," she whispered finally, "I don't want to ruin that."

He didn't know how he could make her understand. "Maureen, Joanne is going to find out either way. You can either wait until it's too late or you can take the risk that it isn't yet and be honest with her."

On some levels Mark knew that Maureen understood this. That Maureen just needed some positive motivation. "What if she doesn't want to?" she said quietly, "What if… she's too mad?"

Maureen wanted promises but he couldn't give them to her.

"Have you asked if she wanted kids?" he asked instead, wondering if that was the reason Maureen was so diffident about this.

Maureen shrugged. Sure they'd talking but nothing was ever definitive; "Well, yeah, but it was never really serious. I don't even know if we could get kids," she mused. Joanne would probably figure out a way. But they were getting sidetracked. "This is completely different from that Mark. I'm not ready for this," she admitted, but it didn't surprise him. Maureen still had trouble taking care of herself, much less another person.

"Maureen, this is why you need to talk to Joanne. If you're going to be keeping the baby, she needs to know," Mark stressed.

"But Mark, I don't know if I can-"

"No," Mark stopped her. "This isn't our conversation Maureen," he pointed out, "I just came here to tell you that you needed to tell Joanne."

"Or what?" Maureen asked, a dangerous look in her eye. She was challenging him, seeing how serious he was about the threat.

The challenge threw Mark off, "Or- Maureen, you're not three years old!" He took a breath and lowered his voice, "You're an adult and you have to live with the consequences of your actions. It wasn't like you couldn't have prevented this- you had complete control over the situation Maureen. It's… look. Talk to Joanne." He'd been demanding it the entire conversation but this was the first time it was more a suggestion than anything.

Maureen finally put down the plate, looking up at Mark with terrified eyes. "What if she gets angry?" she whispered and Mark caved.

"She's going to be angry Maureen," he said softly, going to her and taking her hand as a sign of support. "She'll be angry because you kept this from her and she'll be angry for a million other reasons."

"Million other reasons?" she repeated, her voice quivering and Mark shrugged,

"I don't know. But I do know that she's the only one you can figure this out with."

Maureen looked at the kitchen floor for a moment. She looked up but her voice was joined by a second as she said, "Mark-"

"Mark!" Joanne yelled happily, coming into the kitchen. Mark instantly dropped Maureen's hand- there was nothing going on, but he didn't want to look suspicious. Which he probably did now that he'd done that. Joanne was in his arms before he had a chance to process where she'd come from or why she was there.

"Joanne?" he asked and she stepped out of the embrace looking pretty happy.

"Dr. Michaels changed the report," Joanne relayed excitedly, "Instead of suggesting getting Kat into a more stable environment he's suggested further therapy with a different professional!" Her mood calmed, "Did you talk to him or something?"

"No," Mark answered, slightly confused by the therapists change of heart. Joanne looked between him and Maureen, and her eyebrow went up. "Kat!" he yelled before she could ask anything and the abstract sounds of the television stopped.

Kat appeared in the doorway and gave a shy wave to Joanne, "Hi. Yeah Uncle Mark?" she asked softly.

"We're going," Mark smiled, taking her under his arm, "Joanne and Maureen have to talk about something."

"Okay," Kat said complicatedly, allowing herself to be steered out the door.

Joanne gave Maureen a weird look, "What was all that about?" she asked as the door shut. "We need to talk about something?"

Maureen cursed Mark. Damn him for realizing she wouldn't tell Joanne unless she was pushed into it. Damn him for having to do the right thing. At least he didn't tell her himself. About the only good thing that came from it was that she would be telling Joanne herself.

"Honey Bear, what's going on?" Joanne asked, dread in her voice.

"Baby, you know I love you, right?" she asked hesitantly.

Joanne nodded, "Of course Honey Bear. I love you too," she relayed quickly.

Maureen savored the nickname, knowing it could be the last time she heard it. "Okay, uh… Pookie, I have to tell you something."

Joanne swallowed hard, her throat closing up, her heart speeding up. She could go round after round in court but the second she heard those words out of Maureen's mouth she knew something bad was about to happen.

Devotion was one thing, but there was a little piece of her that knew she was with Maureen. A little piece that looked at Maureen's history and was convinced that people didn't change.

"What?" Joanne asked, her voice unintentionally low. Maureen couldn't look at her and Joanne automatically jumped to the worst case scenario. "What happened?" she asked again.

"I…" she was playing with the hem of her t-shirt, chewing on the inside of her lip. Maureen couldn't take it much longer.

"Maureen," Joanne couldn't take the suspense any longer. "What do you need to tell me?"

"I…" she couldn't do this Joanne. How could she have done this? Jeopardize their relationship? Why did she have to be so stupid?

"Maureen…" Even if this wasn't what Joanne thought it was, the conversation was going to end in a fight. Even if it was something good, it was going to end in a fight. Maureen's eyes were still glued to the floor. "You what Maureen?" she almost yelled, reaching her snapping point.

"I'm pregnant!" Maureen shouted suddenly. She covered her mouth with a small gasp and Joanne stared at her.

"How?" she asked softly, her mind not processing what Maureen had just said. This wasn't what she was expecting. Not at all.

"Um…" Maureen glanced at her nervously, "I uh-"

Joanne waved her off, knowing Maureen was about to go into a vulgar and grown-up version of the 'birds and the bees'. "No, that's not what I meant. I meant… who?"

Mark? No, there was no way that would've happened. Mark wouldn't do that. It had to be someone else…

"Logan Hart," Maureen whispered and Joanne's mind raced to place the name.

She couldn't. "Who's Logan Hart?" she asked. Maureen was pregnant. Maureen hadn't told her that she was pregnant.

"A guy from the Life," Maureen answered miserably, feeling the hot tears spilling out from her eyes.

A guy from the Life. Maureen was pregnant with a baby that half belonged to a guy from the Life. Someone Joanne didn't know in any case. She felt the cold slip of betrayal wedging itself into her core. "How long have you known?" she asked, her voice becoming harder with each word.

Maureen's hands were against her face and Joanne was surprised she could understand the muffled reply of, "A week."

"When did it happen?" was Joanne's next question and she braced herself for the answer.

"When we were broken up…" Maureen paused- this was the only shot of redemption she had. "Before Angel's funeral…"

Joanne turned around. How did she not know this was going to happen? How could she not have seen this? And the tone of voice that Maureen defended herself with. It was almost like- "You think that makes it okay, don't you?" Joanne accused, turning around and glaring.

"I didn't say that!" Maureen instantly protested with a whine, coming forward and taking Joanne's hands in hers, "Please Pookie," she pleaded.

Joanne looked into her eyes, trying to see something inside of them. Trying to see anything inside of them. All she saw was tears and red. "You think that just because we weren't dating, it's okay that you went out and FUCKED someone else?!" Joanne yelled, wrenching her hands away from Maureen's.

"It was just break-up sex!" Maureen wailed and for a moment Joanne wondered if Maureen was even capable of taking care of a child when she acted so much like one.

"Break-up sex?" Joanne scoffed, "That's what you remedy a baby with. Break-up sex?"

"Joanne, I…" Maureen was searching desperately for the right words to say. "It didn't mean anything."

Joanne laughed cynically, her arms circling in a large windmill motion, "Of course you didn't!" she proclaimed condescendingly. Maureen stared at her display with huge eyes. Joanne's entire body dropped after a moment and she whispered, "It never did, did it?"

A tremor shook Maureen as she heard the words. "What are you talking about?" she asked faintly.

"Are you going to keep it?" Joanne asked instead, stubbornly keeping her own tears from falling. Damn estrogen.

Maureen was clueless; "What?"

"Are you going to keep the baby?" Joanne repeated, a touch of malice appearing in her voice.

"I… If…" she wanted to say 'if you raise it with me' but she couldn't. So she said, "Yes."

Joanne nodded, surprised to feel unexpectedly relieved. Suddenly the image of Mark dropping Maureen's hands guilty registered in her mind. As well as his not too subtle prodding to conversation. "You went to Mark with this, didn't you?"

"I- yeah…" Maureen admitted quietly.

The confession stung more than Maureen's infidelity did. She could understand seeking solace in a one-night stand after a bad breakup. What she didn't get is why Maureen would've gone to Mark in the first place. Why he was Maureen's first choice and not her.

"You told him before you told me?" Joanne asked, just to make sure.

Maureen nodded, tears pooling in her eyes once again, "I didn't know what to do!"

"So you went to him," Joanne repeated, "And asked if you should keep the baby?"

This was where things got a little sticky. Mark hadn't exactly told her what to do, but he was probably the biggest influence in her decision. Deciding based on Joanne was just too much for her.

"I can't believe you!" Joanne exploded, waiting long enough for Maureen's response. It was clear that she didn't have an adequate response.

Maureen fell to the floor, "I went to Mark because I didn't know if you'd get mad or not!"

Joanne looked at her, shoulders shaking, and wondered how she didn't understand. Usually it was the both of them yelling at one another over something trivial, like who bit whose lip, but now… it was serious, and Joanne was the one doing the yelling. And she couldn't really explain where all the anger came from. Some of it she could though. "The fact you went to Mark at all is what I have a problem with," she said curtly, turning around and looking for her coat.

"I didn't know what to do!" Maureen repeated. It seemed to be her motif of the night and Joanne snapped once again;

"You think Mark did?!" she demanded. "Mark's just lost his sister and has a kid who lost her family. Why the hell would you go to _him _with this?! Do you not think? Of course you don't!" she answered her own rhetorical question, "Why am I even asking?"

Maureen was shocked into silence, Mark's delicate situation being put into perspective for her. Joanne was right. She hadn't thought.

She never did.

There was a brief flash of lawyer in the door way. Maureen scrambled to her feet, "Where are you going?" she asked, desperately catching the back of Joanne's coat before the door closed.

Joanne's face softened for a moment at the touch. She looked down at the hand and when she looked back up her face was cold and hard, "I'm staying with Collins tonight," she explained steely. "I just…"

"Just what?" Maureen whispered, falling against the closed door and sliding to the ground.

After a moment the tears started to come and the part of her that wasn't hysterical wondered if it was possible to fuck up worse than she just had.

**A/N: So I had the first part down and then it came to the Mojo… and… well, hopefully it's good, because it took me forever to get down. I struggle like hell with those two, I don't really know why. Anyhow. Sorry it took so long. Hope you liked it. Review please!**

**Oh, and I wanted to start doing the summary's at the top of each chapter- tell me if they help or if they're just moot. **


	22. January 20th 10:37 am EST

_Summary: Mark confronted Maureen about hiding the pregnancy from Joanne; Maureen told Joanne who became angry and left to stay with Collins for the night.  
_

_!Potty Mouth Warning on Roger's behalf...!  
_

_January 20__th__ 10:37 am EST_

_The Loft - Sunday_

"What the fuck is in this?" Roger demanded, huffing as he dropped a cardboard box on the floor of his old room. He sunk to the floor after the box, leaning against it as Mark came through the door with a second one. Only then did he realize he'd been alone until that moment. "What the fuck is in this?" he asked again.

Mark groaned and dropped the box to the ground, "I don't know, but it sure is heavy."

"Fuckin' girls man," Roger muttered. "Thank God we're done." Mark nodded along, leaning his head against the box he rested against, closing his eyes. Collins was downstairs taking care of the truck drivers and Kat was in the main room, curled up on the couch and watching Mimi.

Roger groaned as he stood up, brushing his plaid pants off, "What time is it?" he asked with a yawn and Mark reluctantly glanced at his watch.

"Quarter to," Mark answered.

"Fuck," Roger muttered, digging the palms of his hands into his eyes. Sleep had been scarce since Mimi had come to him for help, although he had to admit that Mimi wasn't faring any better. Kat looked even more dejected and lethargic than usual, but Mark wasn't sure that it was because of Mimi's presence. Something had shifted in her attitude after the therapist but he couldn't pinpoint precisely what it was.

He was probably getting the most sleep out of the four of them and he was exhausted.

"Come'on," Roger muttered and Mark grudgingly accepted his hand up. Roger pulled him to his feet and together they headed out the door and into the kitchen. "You hungry Kat?" Roger asked as he opened the fridge door. Kat muttered something that sounded negative and he took stock of the fridge. The once, and only once, well-filled fridge was slowly being depleted of its reserves and Roger pulled out some carrots. "Fucking rabbit food," he complained, tearing into one angrily.

"Just be lucky we have anything at all," Mark commented taking his own carrots and Roger shrugged,

"We need to go shopping and get some real food."

"Holla!"

They grinned at one another, both identifying the voice before Kat's subdued greeting of, "Hey Collins."

"Where're the boys at Kit-Kat?" he asked. Mark and Roger wandered out of the kitchen to see that Collins had squished himself onto the armchair beside Kat, repositioning the girl so that she was sitting partially on him. "Well there're tweedledee an' tweedledum," Collins grinned, winking at Kat who offered a half smile in return.

"He's tweedledum," Mark instantly called and Roger hit him in the head with his carrot,

"Fuck off."

"Roger!" Mark scolded, still not comfortable with the idea of swearing around Kat and Roger shrugged. Kat was almost swimming under Collins' long trench coat as she tried to get herself more comfortable in his lap.

"How's Mimi doing?" Collins asked softly, nodding to Mimi's curled body on the couch. She was clutching the blanket around her and Roger's leather jacket was balled up into a makeshift pillow.

Roger gazed at her for a moment before shrugging, "She's doing well so far. Almost like she'd…" he snapped his eye up to Collins, "What the fuck did he do?" he demanded and Kat felt Collins stiffen as Mimi moaned softly.

"Who'd do what Roger?" Collins asked suspiciously, leaning back in the chair and pulling Kat completely into his lap. She half turned, snuggling into his chest under the coat and he wrapped his arms around her.

"What the fuck did Benny do?"

Collins became stern, "He did what he had to do to make sure Mimi didn't die," he said in a low voice. Kat's eyelids were starting to flutter and he didn't want to wake Mimi up. "Getting detoxed wasn't something we could've done properly- she came to you for the long run, didn't she?"

Roger was already up and pacing, "I can't believe that fuck," he muttered and Collins exchanged an exasperated look with Mark. Roger's dislike of Benny really knew no bounds.

"That fuck made sure your girlfriend didn't die," Collins pointed out and Mark wisely stayed silent.

Roger wasn't going to be so easily swayed, "He had no right Collins!" he yelled and Collins glared at him,

"Stop yelling or you'll wake them up," he demanded softly. Roger spared a look at Mimi and was surprised to see Kat's closed eyes and even breaths.

"Whatever," he muttered sheepishly, flopping back down next to Mark. "He's still a fuck."

The crunching of Roger chewing his carrot was the only sound that penetrated the silence for a few minutes. "Is Kat really sleeping?" Mark asked curiously and Collins nodded his head,

"Think so. Twitching and shit," he muttered, resting his head on the top of hers and Mark smiled,

"Good."

Roger was fuming over Benny's involvement with Mimi on one side of Mark and Collins was ignoring the glares directed towards him, anchored down by the teenager on top of him. After a moment Mark couldn't stand it anymore. He stood up, "You hungry Col?" he asked, heading towards the kitchen and Collin shook his head,

"I'm fine man."

"Roger?"

Roger huffed, too sulky to actually say yes, but Mark interpreted the sound for what it was. "Hey Mark," Collins called and Mark turned around to look at him.

"Yeah?"

"Did you know about Maureen and Joanne?" he asked conspiratorially.

"What about Maureen in Joanne?" Roger piped up, momentarily forgetting he was pissed at Collins.

Mark chose his next words carefully, "About Maureen specifically, or about the both of them?"

"You totally know!" Collins accused and Roger growled,

"What the fuck does Mark know?"

Mark asked the better question, "How do you know?"

"Joanne showed up at my apartment last night," he explained, careful not to jolt Kat as he shifted into a more comfortable position. "She was ballin' and asked if she could crash for a day or two. Didn't get the whole story out of her, but from what I got, Maureen's preggers."

"MAUREEN'S PREGENANT!" Roger shouted and Mimi stirred across from him on the couch,

"Roger baby?" she asked, opening her eyes a crack and Roger instantly felt guilty,

"Mimi, hon, I'm sorry," he muttered, getting out of his seat and kneeling next to her, his hand stroking her hair "You alright?"

"What happened?" she asked drowsily, shaking slightly as she removed the pile of blankets on her.

Roger smiled, "Nothing love; go back to sleep," he encouraged.

Mimi closed her eyes, "I'm cold Roger," she whispered and Roger used a hand to pull one of the sheet's she'd pushed away over her.

"Try to sleep for a bit longer and then we'll get you something to eat, alright love?" he suggested and Mimi's head dropped half nod.

"Tweedledum," Collins reiterated and Roger gave him the finger. "Least you didn't wake Kit-Kat up," Collins mused, convinced that she was actually sleeping through everything. "Mark," he called, raising his voice only slightly- Mimi was still probably awake.

"Hm-mhmm?" Mark acknowledged and Collins strained to see what he was up to in the kitchen. He wandered a little closer so Collins wouldn't have to speak so loudly, a bowl in his hand and a spoon in the other.

"Has Kitty been getting much sleep lately?" Collins asked and Mark handed the bowl off to Roger, who was now sitting on top of the coffee table,

"What do you mean?"

"Like, nighttime. She been goin' to sleep properly?"

"I… think so," Mark answered. He knew that she didn't often go to sleep before him any longer, but he just assumed that she drifted off soon after him. "Why?"

Collins shrugged as best he could, "Sleeping like a rock is all," he muttered. For a couple minutes there was silence as the three guys watched their girls sleep.

Then Collins brushed a couple hairs that had fallen into Kat's face away. His touch must have been too heavy because she opened her eyes, looking almost straight up at him. "Hmm?" she asked, stretching a couple of her muscles out.

"Nothin'," Collins smiled, "You were sleeping."

"Oh," she muttered, blinking rapidly a couple times, "I was, wasn't I? Where's Uncle Mark?" she asked, her voice still thick with sleep and Mark cleared his throat from his seat,

"Right here Kitty."

"Oh," she muttered again, turning around so that she could see him. "Hi," she smiled shyly.

"Hey," Mark said back with an amused smile; Kat was adorably disoriented sometimes after waking up, and this was one of those times.

"What happened?"

"You fell asleep," Mark answered and Kat nodded,

"Right. Where's Roger?" she asked and Mark pointed in front of him, where Roger was sitting.

"I'm right here Kitty," Roger muttered and she twisted her head to look at him for a second.

She turned back and snuggled back into Collins' chest, "Good," she whispered.

Collins chuckled. "So about Maureen," he started, realizing that the topic of conversation had been forgotten. He addressed Mark, "How long'd you know?"

"Is that really important?" Mark whined and Roger shifted so he could see both Mimi and Mark,

"'course it is!" he insisted, "Because that's how long Maureen's been keeping it a secret."

"And why would I be the first one Maureen tells?" Mark demanded. Collins gave him a look and Roger laughed and he sighed, "Fine. Whatever."

"Well, how long?" Collins asked and Mark glared at him,

"If I tell you, you're going to tell Joanne," he stated bluntly.

Collins nodded, "Of course I will. Joanne should know."

"If Joanne wants to know she should ask Maureen about it."

"I'm not sure her and Maureen are exactly on speaking terms," Collins reflected and Roger couldn't help but laugh,

"How the fuck does something like that happen anyways? I knew Maureen was stupid, but I didn't know she was that stupid."

Mark glared at him, feeling a need to defend his ex-girlfriend. "It wasn't like that Roger," he insisted and Roger scoffed,

"What, you think that just because Maureen says she loves Joanne she isn't going to cheat on her? She cheated on you Mark," he pointed out and Mark tried not to snap at him.

"They weren't going out when Maureen slept with the guy you asshole," he said coldly and Roger died down instantly. "They were broken up and it was an accident."

"She gonna keep it?" Collins asked softly and he could feel Kat tense. He started rubbing her back, kissing the top of her head when he felt her starting to relax a little.

"She wants to," Mark muttered, "I think she's going to." He could feel Roger beginning to scoff at the idea of Maureen raising a child so he glared at him and said, "Don't even go there Roger."

"Go where," Roger grumbled pointlessly. Both Collins and Mark knew what he was going to say so he just stayed silent.

"Uncle Mark," Kat muttered, evidently still a little drowsy as she yawned.

"Yeah Kitty?" Mark asked, filling the gap between her words and she continued on with,

"Is all my stuff up here?"

Mark nodded, "Yeah it is. You want to start… unpacking soon?" he asked. It was going to be a difficult process, but one that needed to be done. Unpacking would signify something permanent, and Mark didn't know if Kat could handle it.

"Can Collins come?" she asked softly and Mark looked to Collins. Collins nodded, and Mark said,

"If you'd like him to."

"Would you come Collins?" she asked and Collins nodded,

"'course I will kid." He sat up and Kat slid off his torso, "Just let me go use the facilities and I'll be in there before you know it."

Kat nodded, standing by the armchair. Feelings from her first real day in the loft began to resurface and she swallowed the tears that came with them. Because she knew who she was now. Maybe 'knowing' was too presumptuous, but she did have a vague understanding of who she was… Mark, Collins, Roger, Mimi, Joanne and even Maureen, they'd all answered the question she'd had on that day with Collins. She had changed, and together the people in her life were surrounding her and molding her into who she was comfortable being- Kat.

If that made any sense.

She wasn't sure, and she was the one thinking it.

The boxes littering the floor were unfamiliar and she wondered who'd packed them.

"We did," Mark answered and Kat realized she'd spoken the words out loud, "You don't remember?"

Kat shook her head. She didn't remember.

"You ready?" Mark asked softly and Kat nodded.

This was where her theory came into play. Because there was no way in the world that Katharine would be able to do this. To open up these boxes and start filling this alien room with her possessions, to deal with the memories that went with them. But Kat didn't have memories. Kat was preserving Katharine while creating another life that could coincide peacefully with the original. Kat was fine with unpacking these- Katharine's emotions in this situation were obsolete. They didn't account for anything. They were completely and utterly… moot.

Mark knelt down in front of a box and used something- maybe it was his nail- to slice the tape at the top. The flaps of the box popped up slightly, straining to open fully under the remaining tape. Too quickly Mark slipped his fingers between the creases and pulled, the tape snapping, Kat's theory being put to the test.

There was a scream in the other room. Some scuffling; a low, throaty voice and then a shriek.

Mark looked up sharply from the brown cardboard and Kat's head snapped around, her body following the movement. "What happened?" she whispered to Mark, who was by now standing.

"I don't know," Mark muttered, crossing the threshold of the bedroom and entering the main area of the loft.

Mimi was in the corner of the room, hair matted flush against her forehead, clutching herself and shaking so hard Mark was surprised that she was still standing.

Across from her, the armchair between them, Roger stood and was attempting to calm her; "Mimi, love, just come here and we'll talk about it," he pleaded.

Mimi's eyes darted to the fire escape window. "I want it Roger!" she demanded.

Collins came out of the bathroom with a worried face, his eyes scanning the scene quickly. Noticing Mimi's glances towards the glass windows he quietly made his way over to it.

Roger didn't notice him: "Meems, I can't give it to you, you know that."

"Yes you can," Mimi growled, hatred in her voice, "You just want to keep it for yourself!"

"I don't have any," Roger said, "And even if I did I wouldn't give it to you. You promised you'd try."

"I am trying Roger!" Mimi shrieked and Mark took a step so he was in front of Kat. He recognized the look in Mimi's eye, and even though she had committed to staying clean, it didn't matter at the moment. Nothing but smack mattered at the moment.

Roger opened his arms, speaking quietly, "Just come here and we'll talk it through, okay?"

"It's not okay!" Mimi shouted, starting towards the window. She was five feet away from Collins when she finally realized that he was there. "Fuck!" she yelled, stumbling away from him. Kat caught a flash of her eyes as she noticed how surrounded she was.

"Mimi," Roger whispered, the calmness of his voice surprising even him. "Love, just come here. Please?"

Mimi shook her head, tears sporadically falling down her face. "Why can't you understand?" she cried, falling to her knees and muttering in Spanish.

Roger took a couple tentative steps towards her. "I understand Mimi, that's why I'm not going to let you go… Mimi?" he asked softly, not sure if the breakdown was over or just starting.

Suddenly Mimi was on her feet; then she was in Roger's arms as the couples bodies were tangled in each other on the ground. "LET GO OF ME!" Mimi shrieked, punching, slapping, kicking and clawing any part of Roger's body she could get a hold of.

Roger fended off the attacks as best he could while keeping her on the floor. They wrestled against one another for a few moments, both fighting to get the upper hand- the only difference Roger's concern for Mimi's well being and Mimi's total disregard for Roger's.

Somehow Roger managed to get Mimi flat on her back on the ground, using his body weight to keep her down. He caught one wrist and then the other and for a couple seconds she struggled against him. Her efforts were futile and soon he had her arms pinned to the ground as well. They were both breathing hard, panting, Mimi glaring at Roger and Roger blinking blood from his eye.

"You okay Roger?" Collins asked. During the fight he'd come closer, ready to assist if need be. Now he was just worried about the origin of the blood above Roger's right eye.

"Is there any blood on the floor?" Roger asked, ignoring his question, and turning his arm so he could see if the scab on it had been opened. Thankfully it remained intact.

"We're good," Collins said, meeting Mark's eyes. "We're good," he repeated. He caught Kat staring at him and offered her a quick smile. There wasn't anything he could really say except that this was probably only the first of such episodes, and he'd been taught long ago to not say anything if he had nothing good to say.

Meanwhile, Mimi had yielded completely to Roger, melting in his firm but gentle grip, her eyes closed tightly. Roger was hesitant to relax; worry that Mimi would take the opportunity to attack him once again prevented it. He'd been expecting something like this to happen ever since Mimi had come to him, but it didn't make it any less surprising.

"Roger, please," Mimi whispered; if Roger wasn't sure before, he was sure now. He released her arms and slumped to his side, drained. Mimi lay on the ground for a moment before opening her eyes. "I'm sorry," she whispered. She turned around and looked up at him. "I'm sorry."

She started to get up, with the intention of walking through the door, but Roger caught her arm. "Don't," he pleaded, knowing her plan, desperate to change it, "Please. Stay. Stay here with me."

And Mimi hesitated.

And that was all Roger needed to know she really was trying. He propped himself against the back of the couch and pulled her into his lap, clamping his arms down around her small shivering, sweating, squirming frame.

"Roger-" Mimi started, but Roger only held on tighter,

"You're not going anywhere Mimi. I know you don't want to. And I'm not going to let you."

Mimi stopped struggling. After a moment she let herself fall into Roger's body, the effort of containing the itch shaking her entire being. But she contained it with help from the presence of Roger's protective arms.

If she had Roger, she knew she had the drugs beat.

**A/N: Thank you to those who reveiwed last chapter. It meaned a lot, and I hope you do so again :) Hope y'all liked this chapter- it was fun to write, especially the beginning :D**


	23. January 21st 6:55 am EST

_Summary: Kat's things came and as she and Mark began to unpack, Mimi's withdrawal briefly became violent. _

_January 21__st__ 6:55 am EST_

_The Loft_

It was what drove Mark out of the bed, but Kat fell asleep to the soft plucking of harmonic guitar strings.

Before she slipped into the uneasy sleep she realized a couple things.

First, she realized that it had been Mark, or on the rare occasion Collins, that kept her warm under the covers at night. Mark had just left her and could now be heard bustling about the apartment, the door to her new room ajar, and Kat was quickly becoming cold, alone in the bed with only a blanket.

Mark, she noted, had a tendency to speak out in his sleep, his words often fragmented and rarely comprehensible, but audible. He seemed to have a natural impulse to please- whereas Collins moved about often in his sleep, but always adapted in the end, Mark would cement whatever part of himself Kat was touching, subconsciously leaving it independent while the rest of his body flailed and shifted.

It was from this conclusion that she realized she'd gone almost the entire night without sleep; her body was weak and her mind was weighed down by a so-far lethargic mass of something. Her eyes felt static and it was almost like everything was experienced in a removed manner. It was becoming increasingly difficult for her to concentrate.

A hand was moved. She felt the hand move. She saw the hand move. The connection was made that 'a hand' was indeed her hand. It was no longer one fluid motion but a series of disjointed jolts of happening; she realized this when it occurred to her to think about it.

The last one was the sound of the guitar that she realized acted as a odd sort of sound recognition teleprompter, bringing back memories she would've much rather kept concealed, memories about a certain boy, a certain relationship, a certain place and time where she was someone else, inhabiting the same body.

For a moment she allowed her façade to fade, clutching a pillow to her chest and imagining that the pillow was in fact a person, its receding warmth in fact the radiating body heat of a forgotten friend.

So to the sound Mark's clumsiness in the kitchen and comforting notes of a nondescript song, Kat finally closed her eyes;

"Morning Roger," Mark yawned, happy for the pleasant wake-up call Roger's guitar provided. He didn't mind waking up to Roger's music in the mornings- unless of course, it was before twilight; something that Roger had apparently finally learned.

Roger up-nodded the place Mark had been two minutes ago.

"Hungry? Is the coffee set? How long you been up? What time is it?" All of Mark's questions went unanswered as Roger completely ignored him and Mark sighed. He glanced around the loft instead to get himself orientated.

No empty or half full bowls- that meant Roger had woken up (or gotten sick of trying to sleep) and had jumped straight to guitar.

Coffee pot in the sink- Mark rinsed it quickly and made a quick filter from a dish cloth, turning and setting it on the hot plate.

There wasn't a working clock in the loft but he found his watch in a milk crate under the table and wondered vaguely how it'd gotten there. It read 7:06.

He took out three bowls and the cereal box and then glanced at Mimi, who was cuddled into the back of the couch. "Did she sleep at all?"

Roger stopped playing, "What?"

"Mimi," Mark clarified. They all needed some help in the morning. "Did she sleep at all last night?" Roger shrugged and Mark's eyes were drawn to the dark bags under Roger's eyes. "Did you sleep at all?" he asked, rephrasing the question.

Roger shrugged again, "Don't know." He looked thoughtfully at Mimi for a moment; unable to suppress a yawn, "Fuck, this is exhausting."

Mark offered a reassuring half-smile… or what he hoped amounted to one. "It'll get easier," he said softly, and the quiet of the loft ensured that Roger heard him clearly.

"Yeah," Roger scoffed, "But how long will that take?"

Mark didn't answer. His mind was elsewhere- actually; he was thinking that it was about time to enforce a collective nap time on all of them, like they'd had in kindergarten. They could all use it.

"Kitty up?" Roger asked, glancing towards the door of the room and Mark shrugged.

Why wasn't Kitty up, anyways? She usually followed him out of bed within a couple minutes. Mark had a sneaking suspicion that she was uncomfortable by herself, although lately she was always up after him, whenever he woke up, and when he finally did wake up for good. "Guess she fell asleep when I left her…" he mused, finding it hard to believe. He'd never once known of Kat sleeping on her own.

Come to think of it, it probably wasn't a very good indication of her mental state.

"How was she yesterday?"

Mark raised his eyebrow: Roger was being rather talkative this morning, and not in the least bit grumpy. It was strange. "Uh, she was fine, quiet, but fine pulling all that stuff out of the boxes," he answered, the memory leaving his face arranged in such a way that prompted Roger's question of,

"So you're upset that she wasn't balling her eyes out?"

"Not upset," Mark corrected cautiously. "Collins thinks there's something up with her too. But I'm not upset… just confused… and worried." He started towards the room suddenly forbiddingly curious as to why Kat hadn't come out yet, but Roger got up with glancing at Mimi.

"No, I'll go get her," he offered, "Watch Mimi and get ready."

Roger knocked on the partially open door before he came in. Kat was curled in the bed, clutching a pillow tightly and smiling softly. It was disarming, seeing her looking so content, vulnerable and yet comfortably and confidently so. He sat on the edge of the bed, sorely wanting to just leave her in peace.

"Hey dude," he said quietly, touching her shoulder softly. "Wake up. You've got school… and stuff," he finished, giving her a gentle shake.

To his complete surprise she groaned and rolled over, muttering darkly, "Fuck off Ryan."

Roger glanced at the door. He could remember something about a brother named Ryan…

Why did he offer to come in here again? What the hell had possessed him to potentially deal with a situation just like this one. What the fuck was he supposed to do?

The bed was cold, and Kat wasn't used to it.

Then she noticed the music had stopped.

And the hand tapping her wasn't Ryan.

Her lungs refused to work and she felt her entire body deflate. The gaping wound that had been slowly healing in her chest was ripped open afresh by her foolish memory. She closed her eyes against the onslaught, shaking from the overwhelming emotions. Someone shifted on her bed but she ignored whoever it was. She remembered now- the music, the pillow, her imagination. The reality was that she didn't have those people any longer.

"Kitty, it's not Ryan," a rough voice said delicately, pointing out what she'd already figured out.

It was Roger. "Is Mimi okay?" she asked, desperate for something to distract from the tears.

"Yeah." She knew that already.

Kat turned her face away from the pillow it was squished up against, feeling the moistness she left on it. "Is it always this bad?" she asked, carefully avoiding Roger's eyes and therefore hiding any trace of emotion from him.

There was something more there; something other than the fact yesterday had spooked her. She needed to be distracted for some reason, and it provoked his slow, steady speech.

"I went through withdrawal," he offered, wondering how much she knew about him. "I don't know how Mark managed it, he was all alone. I don't like thinking about it," he said apologetically. "Mimi's small enough that she can't hurt you too much but… you come between a junkie and his smack and there's hell to be paid. I don't know how Mark managed it…"

Roger was suddenly aware of her soft, small, childish hand in his. Mimi had told him he had big hands once, but Kat's was so tiny it literally disappeared into his. "How bad did it get?"

"For me?" he swallowed. The worst of his withdrawal was something he really, really didn't like thinking about. "I don't remember a lot of it," he answered truthfully. He added ruefully, "Mark probably does. Mark doesn't tell me though. And even though there's a part of me that wants to know… there's another part, a louder part that tells me to listen to Mark. Mark's always right. Mimi… I don't know. We'll see," he finished with a hopeful smile.

Kat twisted so she on her side, facing him. She was staring at their hands, probably thinking the same thing he'd been earlier. "Why do you do it?" she asked in a tentative whisper.

"Me? Or…" But he berated himself, because she was obviously talking about him. What was Kat asking him these questions for anyways? He sighed. There was now another girl in his life that could get him to do anything, bringing that particular total up to two. And he didn't even remember how it happened.

"Everyone was doing it," he said, knowing how pathetic he sounded and hating himself for it. "I was weak. Stupid. Strong-headed, stubborn, hurt, arrogant, angry, full of contempt, lonely… sad," he added as an afterthought. "I was really sad- I was an idiot. And I paid for it…"

The door to the bathroom closed but it was just background noise, indicative of nothing.

"I'm sad."

Roger felt a muscle twitch. "What?"

"I'm sad," Kat repeated in a monotone voice that suggested she was in two places at once. "And angry."

"Kat," Roger squeezed her hand, hoping he had her attention. Because what he thought was being suggested could _not_ be being suggested. "Kitty, that's not an excuse. None of the things I said were good reasons to go out and get high every hour, on the hour."

She closed her eyes. "I'm not feeling very smart right now," she admitted quietly.

Roger stared at her with the dim light that was filtering in through the blinds and open door. He'd never been faced with discouraging a prospective user before- and that was certainly what was going on right now. He'd always been on the other side either encouraging the hit or dealing with the withdrawal.

He didn't know what to say.

Kat looked at him, her big solemn eyes glazed over, speaking with a tight and cracking voice: "Roger, I'm an orphan. This is the lowest moment of my life. What's a better excuse than that to want to feel good?"

"There isn't one," Roger admitted and she looked surprised. He continued, "But you're stronger than I am. You're stronger than Mimi is."

"And how can you say that?" she demanded quietly, "How do you know that?"

Roger's hand hovered above her head for a moment before dropping and softly stroking her hair. He didn't quite understand how Mark's niece had managed to find such a spot in his heart, but she was doubtlessly there to stay and he was starting to feel the kind of devotion towards her he'd only felt towards a handful of people in his life.

"I know it because you're still here Kitty." He let that sink in for a moment before pulling her up, "Com'on, let's go eat something."

"Roger-"

"Kitty," he interrupted and she clamped her mouth shut. In the light he could tell she'd been crying and his chest ached deeply. "Using gets you on the path that me and Mimi are on," he explained patiently, "And you know what path that is."

Death. It was plainly obvious he was talking about death.

"And if you aren't going to be thinking about yourself, think of Mark. He doesn't need someone else dying on him. Mimi and I have already fucked that part of it up- I know I'm going to leave him hanging. And I can't tell you how much that tears me up inside, how much I hate myself for it. Don't turn into me. Please."

The intensity in his voice made her want to say 'okay' automatically, but she couldn't. After all his raw honesty she didn't want to lie to him, and she didn't know what was a lie yet and what wouldn't be. So to leave off on a lighter note she decided to be honest as say, "You're not all that bad."

Roger laughed loudly and tousled her hair. "Whatever," he grinned broadly, "Now seriously, com'on. Mark'll have my ass," he warned, pulling her out of bed and handing her a sweater to put on.

"I like it when you play guitar," Kat said, following Roger out of her room.

"Oh yeah?" Roger asked and Kat nodded, suddenly shy. "Is that a request?" he smirked.

Kat shrugged, sitting down in the chair Roger indicated, "I don't know."

"Really? Well, what kind of music do you listen to?"

Kat shrugged again, "I don't know."

Roger nodded, working out her answers in his head. In his experience, the only people who answered 'I don't know' to the two questions were usually people who primarily listened to someone else play. "Who played guitar?" he asked and Kat was surprised at his shrewdness.

"What?"

"Before Mark, Mimi, me- who was it that played guitar?"

"I don't know what you're talking about," Kat muttered to the table and Roger sighed, not really wanting to share how he came to the conclusion.

"There was someone that played guitar for you," he tried to explain again, but then he caught sight of her flush and tuned into her sudden reservation. "Never mind," he trailed off uselessly.

Kat stared at the bowl in front of her. "Is this the only thing there is to eat here?" she asked in a tight voice and Roger went to the fridge.

"I could… make you a sandwich," he offered, tilting his head and wondering if he actually could.

"Really?!" The excitement in her voice almost made him feel guilty for offering in the first place.

"Yes," he answered, "And it'd have… carrots in it."

Kat's face fell. "That sounds… delightful."

Roger rolled his eyes, "Eat your cereal." He took a spoon from the drawer and sat down across from her, one eye on the bowl and one on Mimi behind Kat.

"You don't have to do this," Kat said suddenly after a bite of cereal.

Roger actually succeeding in talking around the food in him mouth, "Do what?"

"Take care of me like this…" He looked up sharply at her. She eyeballed the table. "It's just, you've got Mimi-"

"Mimi's sleeping right now," Roger pointed out, wondering where this was all coming from. What the hell had happened in the last 24 hours?

Kat twirled her spoon around in the milk, looking inexplicably guilty. "You should be sleeping too." She risked a glace up, "How much did you sleep last night?"

Maybe she was just overly concerned. Mark did that a lot too.

"I could ask you the same question," Roger said softly.

"Touché," Kat sighed and Roger couldn't help but shake his head. "What?" she asked suspiciously.

"Nothin'," he grinned, "You and Mark are just more alike than I would've thought."

Kat wasn't sure if it was a complement or not. "Thanks?"

"It's definitely a good thing," he reassured. He noticed that Mimi had withered out of her blankets and got up to tuck her back in. He kissed her softly on the forehead, pushing back her matted hair and made a mental note that it was probably as good a time as any to get her into the tub. A thought presented itself in Roger's mind and he looked over to Kat, who was staring at the bowl of milk and cereal moodily.

"Hey Kitty, I told you a bunch of stuff about me so… can I ask you something?" He hoped that his disclosure before would pressure her into answering his question truthfully, because he was going to ask it either way.

Kat nodded, confused. "Sure?"

"Why aren't you hungry anymore?"

She raised a shoulder slightly, probably without realizing, her head tilting towards it: "What do you mean?"

Roger took a couple steps forward- "You barely eat," he said, hoping she understood his query as purely concern on his behalf, "The minimum for Mark. Just above that if Collins manages to guilt you into it- what's up with that?"

"Roger…" but she couldn't say anymore. The conversation was getting too personal too quickly for her. The characteristic bluntness wasn't helping matters either. But minutes ago he'd been sharing his own secrets with her, and it was Roger. She owed him at the very least an honest answer.

Roger sat down across from her and leaned forward, seeing his own mistake. "I'm sorry," he apologized sincerely. "Look, I know how it feels not to be hungry. I know how it feels to have everything you eat crawling back up your throat… and I know what it's like to feel guilty with every bite you take. I'm just trying to help, and I can't help it if I'm frank about it." _Because I care about you_, was the unspoken sentence that followed. Secretly Roger had a feeling it was the last one that Kat was experiencing, but he didn't want to say anything.

She always had the therapist to talk to, or Mark, or Collins. He didn't care if she talked to him, as long as she went to someone.

There was a spoon in front of his face and he was so startled he nearly fell off his chair.

"Nice Roger," Mark commented, randomly on his way across the loft, fully dressed and toweling off his hair.

Roger glared at Kat, "Thanks a lot." She kept it there and he realized he was supposed to take it. Perhaps it was some kind of apology, or token of appreciation.

She took a small bite. "I'm okay Roger," she said smiling lightly at him, almost in undertone.

Roger took his own bite, "Good."

_A/N: This story is slowly sucking the soul out of my muse. I'm going to take a short two week long-ish break to maybe try to write something else, or just read read read! so I can repair my will to write. I've got at least like, 20 more chapters planned (what have I gotten myself into, she moaned with despair) but I need to take a breather :( Anyways. _

_THANK YOU TO ALL THAT REVIEWED!!!!!! HEY-OH!!!!!!! HAPPY HOLIDAYS!!!!!!!_

_Hope y'all review again, I'd 'preciate it mighty fine. *dazzling chipmunk smile*_


	24. perhapsit'sbecausei'mtheoneofustosurvive

_Summary: Mimi encounters Kat on the stairs before attempting withdrawal with Roger; Roger shares his memories about withdrawal with Kat and discourages her from trying heroin. _

_January 22 4:19 am EST_

Tuesday; The Loft

"**perhaps it's because i'm the one of us to survive"**

Roger stood at the side of the bed, wondering if there was any way he could wake Mark up without waking Kitty, who was curled into Mark's back. He debated just leaving the two of them alone, but Mimi coughed from the main room and his breath was still curling around his face in white wisps. He started gently shaking Mark's shoulder.

Mark groaned and automatically turned around, nearly crushing Kat in the process. He was aware of the shaking- the shaking in itself wasn't odd or out of place. It was when he realized that the shaking was coming from his other side that it dawned on him something strange may be up.

The last thing he remembered was reading a script for the play he was hanging lights for in a couple days. Kat was to the right of him and he ignored the gut feeling that told him she'd yet to go to sleep. There were no glasses on his face so he assumed she'd taken them off before curling up beside him in an attempt to sleep.

Confident he'd caught up to the current moment, Mark opened his eyes. The darkness, combined with poor eyesight, prevented him from making out much more than a blur, but he asked, "Everything okay?" anyways as coherently as he could.

"Shh," he got hushed instantly, identifying the blob as Roger.

Roger hadn't been in his calculation. Which meant that something was probably wrong. "What happened?" he demanded, still flat on his back. The temperature of the air around his face was remarkably biting and he wasn't feeling very enthusiastic about getting out of bed in a hurry. "Roger," he prodded, "Is Mimi oka-"

A hand clamped over his mouth; "Shh. Kat's still sleeping."

Mark used his free hand to pry Roger's off. "No she's not," he mumbled.

Roger hesitated; "Yes she is," he said uncertainly.

Mark sat up, the covers quickly being tugged off his body as Kat claimed them. She pulled them tightly around herself, growling, "Damn it Uncle Mark."

"Oh," Roger muttered. Then, "Why the hell isn't Kat asleep?"

"What did you need," Mark asked, saving the teenager from responding. He had a feeling he knew why Kat didn't sleep, but he didn't feel the need to share it out loud.

Roger moved away, looking for a sweater that Mark could put on. The room was surprisingly sparse, considering how heavy the Kat's boxes had been coming up the stairs… or maybe he just out of shape. He thought about that for a second before shaking his head; no, the boxes were definitely ridiculously heavy.

"Roger, what's going on?" Mark asked again, more annoyed than panicked. He must have realized that whatever was going on wasn't life threatening if Roger was taking the time to take a tour of Kat's room in darkness.

The sleeve of a sweater was poking out from underneath the bed and Roger grabbed it, throwing it at Mark.

"Thanks?" Mark muttered, pulling it off his head. He still didn't know why Roger was in his room at God knew what time in the morning- throwing shit at him to top it all off.

"Mark, have you noticed how cold it is in here?" Roger asked.

Mark narrowed his eyes. "Yeah Roger, it's kind of hard not to."

"That's why I woke you up."

"Because it's cold," Mark clarified.

"Yeah."

"You woke me up because it's cold?" he repeated dumbly.

"What the fuck Mark."

Mark knew his confusion was pissing Roger off, but he really didn't understand what Roger wanted from him. Or why Roger was in the room in the first place. Or why it was so cold inside, when they were inside. Or why 'it's cold' was an explanation for anything. "Roger, I'm not the weather God. I can't make it stop being cold."

"But you can come up to the roof with me and cover up the hole in the window so Mimi doesn't get sick," Roger growled and Mark 'ohh'ed.

"Right," he muttered, getting out of the bed and pulling on the sweater. He winced as his socked feet touched the freezing ground, feeling the bedside table beside him for his glasses.

Kat rolled her eyes as she reached over to the empty side of the queen sized bed and took her Uncles glasses off the sheets there. "Uncle Mark," she muttered, waving them at him and he squinted at her before smiling,

"Thanks Kitty."

"Whatever."

Mark looked at her but didn't say anything. After a moment Roger coughed by the doorway and Mark remembered their plan. "Sorry," he muttered, wishing, not for the first time, that he had some slippers. "I'm a little out of it."

"Yeah, no kidding," Roger muttered. Mark glanced at Mimi, sleeping fitfully on the couch surrounded by blankets, the only part visible through the heap of fabric and her dark mass of wavy hair.

A second later a shoe collided with Mark's side, landing on the ground with a loud thud and Mark almost jumped into the coffee table.

"Mark!" Roger whisper-yelled, "Pay attention dude."

"Stop throwing shit at me!" Mark whisper-yelled back.

"Stop being a fucking baby."

Roger was kidding and Mark caught the other shoe that was hurled at him. He rolled his eyes. It was times like these when he had no idea why he started associating with someone like Roger in the first place. But then he heard, "Kit, what the hell are you doing out here?" and the concern in Roger's voice, and he knew the trivial stuff didn't matter.

He turned his head while he finished tying the last knot on his shoe and sure enough, Kat was standing at the door, the metal (and obviously cold) handle in her hand.

"Where are you guys going?" she asked in the small voice Mark hated so much. It killed him to see her so insecure about something as trivial as them leaving for a couple minutes. He stood up but Roger had surprisingly taken initiative and was pushing Kat towards the couch,

"Me and Markie are just heading up to the roof to fix the huge hole in the sky." He sat her down on the couch just beside Mimi's head, "Take care of Mimi for me?"

Kat nodded. "The power's out?" she asked, looking around the loft. The moon was shining brightly through the huge wall-windows but it was the only thing alight.

"Yeah, that happens sometimes around here," Roger explained, rubbing his hands together. It was a good thing they'd practically emptied out the fridge. He didn't want to explain why it happened sometimes, especially since he was pretty sure Mark had paid the rent for the month. "It's a pretty old place," he said instead and Kat nodded, standing up and pulling a hat onto Roger's head.

It wasn't the ugly-ass hat Mark usually wore out- it was a winter hat, a pretty thick one at that, but it had a visor that Roger rolled his eye up to look at. "Where the hell did this come from?" he asked, adjusting it with a hand while he stuffed the other one into his pocket. Sometimes Kat scared him with her ability to pull things out of nowhere.

He really needed to pay more attention.

"You can borrow it," Kat said, looking at him for a moment before dropping her eyes. "So you don't get sick."

"Thanks," Roger said, wondering where the hell she'd gotten the hat from in the first place. "You'll watch Meems for me?" he asked and Kat nodded, sitting down,

"'Course."

"We'll be back quick," Mark promised, watching the moment between her and Roger fondly from the sidelines. The relief he felt that they were finally getting along well was enormous.

"Yeah, no problem," Kat smiled. "Just hurry- it's freezing."

"Off we go!" Roger announced, saluting Kat and Mark laughed softly.

Kat watched them as they walked through the door, suppressing a yawn. She was beyond tired, but every time she closed her eyes she saw things she didn't want to see. Mark had yet to inquire about it seriously, but Roger was already sniffing around and she didn't want it to be a big deal.

Mimi shifted beside her and Kat watched her. From what she'd heard, Mimi had gone through the worse at some kind of detox clinic, but came back to Alphabet City after the most dangerous part of it was over.

She'd come back to Roger, and had finally asked for his help.

And this was a very good thing. Apparently.

Kat's feelings towards the other female resident of the loft were a little muddled at best, partially due to the fact that Kat didn't really know what Mimi was really like. She liked the girl she'd met at the dinner gathering of people, but the girl lying beside her wasn't that person. There was no way that they were the same person.

The person lying beside her was the helpless, hopelessly conflicted individual Kat had encountered on the stairs. The one who's constant need for supervision and support reminded Kat of her little brother.

Thinking of Ryan made it harder to breathe and more difficult to refrain from shivering against the cold; she stood up and padded into her room, wiping her cheeks on the sleeve of her pajamas. They stung, but what stung more was that the pain was still there. The feeling that it would never go away, no matter how hard she tried- no matter what Collins or Mark or Roger told her. It was always going to be there, eating away at her, destroying her insides quietly like some incurable disease. Her roommates may have HIV, but they were going to pass a virus onto Mark whether they liked it or not. Just like her family had passed onto her.

She dug her fingernails into her palm, wincing when she felt the skin break. How could she think of her family as a disease? What kind of person was she?

It was thoughts like this that she tried to avoid by not falling asleep; the thoughts would only be manifested through dreams and she'd have to live through an alter-reality of the things she hated herself for.

Grabbing the blanket as quickly as she could and licking the small line of blood that had appeared on her hand, she turned around and headed out the door as fast as possible. At least with someone there beside her she could focus on them and not herself; on hating herself.

When she got back, wrapped up tightly in her own comforter, Mimi's wide eyes greeted her and made her stop. The cold floor quickly seeped through the thin fabric of her sock but she couldn't move.

Agreeing to look after a sleeping Mimi was one thing, but she'd never been asked to keep an eye on a conscious one. Especially since the last time they were conscious and alone together Mimi had really been far-gone.

A look of painful understanding passed across Mimi's face and Kat assumed that they were thinking about the same thing.

"Hey," Kat finally managed to get out, wondering why her vocal chords were so reluctant to work. Why was she acting like this?

Mimi didn't say anything and Kat suddenly felt bashful. "Uncle Mark and Roger are up there," she said, and as if on cue there was a the loud rustling of plastic and they had their own personal indoor snowfall for a moment.

"Sorry!" Mark yelled, his face appearing briefly through a pile of snow on one of the windows. His voice was significantly muffled but Kat waved her acknowledgement.

"Why are they up there?" Mimi asked, sitting up, the pile of blankets slowly rolling off her body.

Kat walked over to the couch, sitting down on the edge, as far from Mimi as she could get. "The power's out," she said, "They went up there to cover up the hole."

"Why?" Mimi asked and Kat opened her mouth. And then closed it. Why the hell had they gone up to cover up the hole?

"Maybe they don't have any firewood, so they don't need a ventilation hole?" she guessed. It was as good a reason as any. Mimi was shivering almost violently beside her and Kat resisted the urge to cover her back up with blankets and pull her head onto her lap.

This wasn't Ryan.

"So you're Mark's niece?" Mimi asked, attempting to make some sort of conversation. The itch of her body was driving her mad and she needed to get her mind off of it.

Kat nodded, glancing up at the sky- roof, rather, and furrowing her brows. She looked troubled.

Mimi didn't know what to say. Kat's face was stony, almost frozen over. It sort of looking like she was constipated or something- struggling with something Mimi couldn't understand. Or see.

A shiver ran through her body and she curled up tightly against the armrest of the deteriorating couch.

Itch itch itch itch.

"You're five years older than me," Kat said and Mimi nodded mutely. She didn't really know how old Kat was, but at this point she didn't care. "My little brother was five years younger than me."

"Okay," Mimi whispered, her teeth chattering against one another. "What was his name?"

Mimi could hear the other girl swallow from across the couch. "Ryan." But Mimi had nowhere else to go with that line of questioning so she stopped. She tried to stop thinking, but she couldn't stop her mind. She couldn't turn it off. Only one thing could accomplish that, and that thing was the very thing she was trying to ignore. It felt like she'd just woken from a user dream, the itch was driving her so crazy.

"Mimi?" Kat asked and Mimi snapped her head to the girl thankfully. Anything for a distraction.

She shivered; she wanted to thank Kat for her help in the stairwell what seemed like forever ago but all that came out was a strangled, "Ye-ah?"

"I'm glad you and Roger finally figured it out."

Mimi looked at Kat and saw the smile on her face. "Me too," she whispered. "Kat…" she wasn't the only one shivering. Mimi crawled the few paces to Kat, tugging the blankets behind her. "Collins convinced me to finally come up here," she admitted and Kat nodded thoughtfully. "Collins is good at convincing people to do the right thing."

"Collins is a good guy," Kat said.

"So is Mark," Mimi whispered and Kat slumped into the couch.

"I know. I just wish I could've gotten to know him another way," she admitted.

Mimi touched her shoulder lightly and she could feel Kat leaning into the touch. "There's no point in regretting anything now," Mimi whispered unable to keep from sharing the wisdom. It still often threw her off that everyone didn't know about it. "What's happened, happened and you can't do anything to change the past." She repeated the mantra, "Forget regret- no day but today."

Kat closed her eyes and Mimi felt good for the first time since detoxing.

"The guys should be back soon," Kat muttered finally and Mimi nodded,

"They should," she said. Mimi took a blanket and covered the both of them with it, leaning into Kat's body. It felt odd making contact with someone other than Roger after the past couple days, especially someone who was technically smaller than her.

"Mimi, you want to try and go to sleep?" Kat asked softly and Mimi hesitated a moment before nodding. She didn't really think she could, but she had a feeling that it would be beneficial to them both.

She rearranged a blanket so that it pooled in Kat's lap, resting her head there. Kat pulled the rest of the blankets up around her shoulders.

"Did you take care of your brother a lot?" Mimi asked, because the hand rubbing her back was far too soothing for someone with no practice.

"Yeah," Kat whispered, her other hand gently detangling Mimi's thick long hair.

"Was he sick a lot?" Mimi asked, closing her eyes. Some of the itch was subsiding, and the majority of what was left over was being scratched by Kat's hand.

"Mhmm," Kat hummed, unable to bring herself to actually answer.

Mimi had needed a distraction, and Kat had needed a distraction.

They were two broken bodies that had found good company with each other, bonding over their mutual burning ache.

**A/N: ****So I decided to start naming the chapter's differently, cause I'm finding it hard to remember what happens when. The dates will still be there. Sort of borrowed the chapter title idea from **Louder_Than_Words_354**,**** I guess. They're fantastic F.Y.I. **

**Please review and let me know you exist. I'm pretty sure my best friend is the only one still reading. Haha. :D Love you dude! And thank her for getting my psyche up for this again!**


	25. youcan'ttakethehicksvilleoutofthegirl

_Summary: Maureen disclosed her pregnancy to Joanne under Mark's urging; Joanne stormed out to stay with Collins in anger._

_January 22, 6:09 pm EST_

Joanne's Apartment

"**you can't take the hicksville outta the girl"**

Joanne opened the door to the apartment as quietly as she could. The windows were dark from the outside but that didn't necessarily mean anything. For all she knew, she could walk in to Maureen passed out on the kitchen floor or something equally as disturbing.

Disturbing because Maureen was pregnant with a three-month-old baby.

Collins had managed to talk her around some, convincing her to go to the apartment and at least pick up a nightgown so she would stop wearing old MIT shirts of his.

"You've mopped around for long enough- either go talk to her or kick her outta your apartment," Collins had suggested and Joanne looked around to him, horrified.

"Kick her out? Where the hell would she go? Stay with Mark and Roger with Mimi and Kat? It's a big loft Collins, but there's no way five people could coincide there peacefully."

Collins laughed at her, "Oh, she'll be fine. I lived in that place with Mark, Roger her and Benny and we managed not to murder one another in our sleep."

"But this time it's different. She's going to have a baby Collins, and that place can get so cold sometimes…" Joanne trailed off, and Collins asked what they were both wondering,

"Do you really believe that? That she's gonna go through with it?"

Joanne thought about all she knew about Maureen and knew that Maureen would keep the baby. She wouldn't be able to kill a child, despite her stance on a woman's right to choose. If Maureen was the person she thought she was, she wouldn't be able to go through with an abortion.

"Yes," she answered in a whisper. Collins came down and sat across from her. "Collins, I… I don't know what to do."

"'Course you do," Collins said, smiling when she looked up at him in confusion. "You might not know it yet, but you've already made a decision. You know what to do," he said confidently.

Joanne couldn't remember making any kind of decision, but she had a feeling that Collins was right. Collins was usually right about these kinds of things. He got up and made for his bedroom, pausing in the doorway.

"For the record, I'd never let Maureen live on the streets; but you already know that, don't you."

Joanne nodded. He was right. She had already made her choice. She'd made it even before she protested kicking Maureen out of her apartment.

She'd made it because she loved Maureen- loved the girl even maybe too much. And part of what she loved about Maureen was that she knew that she would keep the baby, no matter what.

The reasoning was how she came to the conclusion, prior to entering the apartment, that if Maureen was going to keep the baby, she was going to keep Maureen. If Maureen would still have her.

And if Maureen wasn't going to keep the baby… then she didn't really know her girlfriend.

It was dark inside the apartment and the only smell coming from it was of old pizza. Joanne took it as a good sign.

"Maureen?" Joanne called out, clicking on the light. The bright fluorescents made her squint and flooded the numerous boxes stacked on the kitchen counter. Most of them were from the pizza place down the street, but there was a container of takeout Chinese balancing precariously over the sink.

There was no respond to Joanne's call and for a moment she was terrified that Maureen thought they'd broken up and had left. Left to go fuck someone else.

But then there was a sound near the entrance to the hall. Maureen was standing there, wearing an old Harvard tee and sweats, hair disheveled, eyes rimmed red with a nose like Rudolph. She was biting her upper lip, the lower one looking painfully red, fiddling nervously with a strand of hair while her other hand compulsively switched from the front of her body to the back. There was a scared, hurt, trepidatious look in her eye, like Joanne was about to rip out the beating heart of a live rabbit and make her eat it… or something.

They both stared at one another, both afraid to make the first move; an uncomfortable silence had descended on them, but silence meant that nothing could be said- which meant there was nothing to take back which meant that they couldn't regret anything that happened.

Joanne contemplated not being angry anymore, forgiving Maureen instantly and proceeding (quickly and physically) to make mends. But she was too scared of it happening again.

What Maureen had done wrong precisely, she couldn't pinpoint. What made her so ticked off and frustrated and annoyed and angry she didn't quite understand. But it was clear that Maureen felt remorse, felt immense guilt, and that was enough for Joanne to maintain her grudge. Maybe it was just an accumulation of events.

After a moment Joanne couldn't stand it any longer. "Are you going to keep it?" she asked; it was one of the reasons she came and it was pointless to beat around the bush.

Maureen didn't answer, just continued to look at her with those pleading, repenting eyes. Maureen knew she'd done wrong and Joanne had to consciously and forcefully stop herself from saying 'Honeybear'.

"Maureen," she said instead, coldly, "Are you going to keep it?"

"I don't believe in abortion," Maureen whispered- her voice sounded raw and despondent. It implied deep pain and it hurt Joanne to hear.

"You also don't believe in woman being forced to fill conventional roles due to prejudice," Joanne reminded, working hard to keep her voice natural. Knowing Maureen's decision was essential before they went any further. It would affect the entire direction of the conversation.

"Are you going to keep it?" Joanne asked again when Maureen remained voiceless.

Maureen whispered something and Joanne's breath caught in her throat. This was the moment of truth. "What did you say?" she asked softly. What was going to happen to them?

"Him," Maureen whispered, swallowing nervously and biting a hole in her lip. "Not it, him."

"Oh Maureen," Joanne whispered, feeling her legs grow weak.

They were going to be okay.

They were going to fight their way through it.

"Pookie…" Maureen whispered, taking a step forward, and then two back. "Joanne," she said, "I'm going to keep it."

Suddenly a new doubt raised its proverbial hand in Joanne's mind. "How are you going to raise a baby by yourself Maureen?" Worry for her Honeybear was taking priority over sensibility and reason. Again.

Maureen shrugged.

"Maureen, have you even thought about this?"

"I was thinking that maybe…" Maureen trailed off, sucking on her bloody upper lip. "We could… I mean…" she glanced up hopefully, even though Joanne understood what she was trying to say the moment she started speaking.

"Maureen, how are we supposed to raise a child when we can barely get through a day without fighting?" Joanne asked, ever the voice of reason. Sure, they'd talked about adopting and such, but this was for real. "Is that the kind of environment you want to raise your baby in? Is this really what the best thing for him is?"

"Of course," Maureen answered instantly. So she had thought about it. "Sure we fight all the time Pookie- that's who we are. Who would Collins be without his crazy schemes and Stoli? Roger without his guitar? Mark without his camera?"

Joanne decided it wasn't the best time to point out Mark's recent lack of filming. "But what if I'm getting sick of the fighting Maureen?" she asked instead, uncertainly. "What then?"

Maureen looked heartbroken; "Pookie… I…" a tear fell from her eyelash, "I never mean the stuff I say when we're fighting. I love you." She choked on the last line.

"I…" Joanne couldn't bring herself to say it. "But we still say it Maureen. We still say it and that counts for something."

"Then we won't say it." Maureen was getting desperate. Things weren't looking good.

"We've tried that already. I argue all day- I don't want to do it when I come home at night too."

"It's a part of who I am- it's a part of who we _are_ Pookie. You can't change that."

"I know," Joanne admitted. "I'm not trying to change you Maureen," she explained, realizing how what she said must've sounded. "But sometimes it's the last thing I need."

"I can promise to try," Maureen said in a small, thoughtful voice. "If it makes you happy I can try."

A promise to try was better than a promise to quit in Joanne's mind; and a part of her knew that there was truth in what Maureen was saying. She knew who she was outside of the relationship, but she liked who she was in it a whole lot more. For the most part, she was happier with Maureen, simply because she was with Maureen.

Because Maureen was hers, and she didn't care how possessive she got about it.

Which led to one of her lingering annoyances. Maureen was still in the doorway and Joanne moved to sit down on a chair. "You went to Mark with this before you came to me," she started. "Do you still have feelings for him?"

It was a stupid question, one they both knew the answer to, but one that still needed to be asked.

"No!" Maureen almost shouted. It was the first real burst of emotion Joanne had seen from her, the first glimpse of the obnoxious, beautiful, confident Maureen that had temporarily disappeared. "Of course not Pookie, Mark's like…" They both thought about it, both unable to come up with a suitable comparison. "He's just a friend," Maureen settled on.

Joanne wouldn't let it go so easily. "You understand how insensitive you were, going to Mark with this, right?"

By the look on Maureen's face, she didn't fully comprehend.

It was pointless explaining it to her, so Joanne tried a different approach, one that had to do solely with them. "If this, us, is going to work out, next time you have something like this, or a problem, you're going to have to come to me."

Maureen sat down quietly across from Joanne and folded her arms. "I know Pookie. Next time I will. I was just so scared that you'd be mad."

"I am mad Maureen. I'm mad because you didn't tell me."

"So you're not mad I slept with that guy?" Maureen asked hopefully.

Joanne considered the fact that they _had _been broken up at the time and figured it wasn't unexpected. "Well…"

"I knew it!" Another glimpse of Honeybear.

Joanne started playing defense; "You'd be jealous too if some random guy knocked me up, even if, at the time, we weren't dating. I'm responding the only way I know how to." Joanne looked at Maureen. "I don't ever want to share you with anyone."

"What if…" Maureen bit her already chewed-out lip. "What if I said that I was done?" she ventured cautiously.

Joanne ignored the obvious implications. "We've tried that already too," she repeated, sinking into sulk.

Maureen leaned forwards. "I'll try harder. I know I can't promise anything Pookie- I just can't stop myself sometimes. Flirting. Not fucking," she quickly clarified. "I… I like the attention," she admitted, "You know how home was for me- I thrive on it."

"So I don't give you enough attention?" Joanne asked, trying to understand. On some levels she did understand- you couldn't watch Mark and Maureen together for as long as she had and not understand at least a little something.

"It's not you Pookie, it's me. I know what I'm doing is wrong, but my mind won't listen to my heart. It's like I've been conditioned because of them," her face darkened at the elusion of her parents. It didn't take longer than a second for her to come back, "I swear that I'll never, ever, fuck anyone other than you," she promised.

Joanne shook her head; "I don't want you to just fuck me Maureen."

"Than what do you want?" she asked, looking lost.

"I want you to love me."

There was a soft smile on Maureen's face as she realized she'd been played. "I do love you Pookie," she said sincerely.

"I… love you too," Joanne replied for the first time that night.

And she did.

She really, so very much did.

But after they'd moved their 'discussion' to the bedroom, Joanne found she couldn't sleep in the same bed as Maureen at the moment. She quietly got out of the bed after Maureen had fallen asleep and retrieved the spare blankets and sheets from the linen closet, setting up the couch.

There were many things that they both had to compromise on in order for their relationship to work. There were some things that they told one another, and others that remained secret.

Love her Honeybear she did, and try they agreed to do, but that didn't mean all was completely forgiven.

But soon. Soon, Joanne was confident, that things would be back to normal.

And soon, if everything went well, it would be normal, plus one.

**A/N: So this is just a short one, cause… it's MoJo. Sorry MoJo fans. Thanks to all that reviewed!! :D **


	26. forsomeonecoolyou'reafool

_Summary: 3 weeks ago Kat's immediate family died; Joanne began sleeping on the couch after learning about Maureen's baby; Mark got a job at a community theatre; Roger's helping Mimi through withdrawal at the loft._

January 23 10:11 am EST

Wednesday, Collins' Loft

"**for someone cool, you're a fool"**

After three days of living with Joanne, Collins was yearning for some alone time. He'd just managed to get all of Joanne's shit out of his apartment when the doorbell rang and he was greeted by the hunched figure of who could only be Kat. It wasn't all too cold outside today so her coat was open, but her hands were jammed into the pockets, pulling it together at the front.

Collins sighed, knowing his daydreams of temporary isolation were always just wistful thinking in the end.

"Come'on in kid," he said, leaving the door open as he headed into the kitchen to boil some water for tea and check the clock to see what time it was.

"Sorry," Kat muttered to Collins retreated back, hoping he wasn't angry with her. She didn't know where else to come. And she didn't know what she would do if Collins was angry with her.

"You know it's quarter after ten?" Collins hollered indignantly from the kitchen and Kat stepped into the apartment.

It wasn't much like she expected. What she expected was still quite unclear, but the sophisticated design of the apartment wasn't it. It wasn't as messy as the loft, but almost; although, unlike the loft, everything seemed to have an assigned place. More than anything- the apartment looked wealthy.

Collins popped his head around the corner. "You hear me Kat?" he asked and Kat's head snapped towards him.

"What?"

Obviously she hadn't heard. "I said, you know it's quarter after ten, right?"

"Uh… yeah," she muttered distractedly, shedding her coat and holding it awkwardly in her hands.

"Hangers over there," Collins nodded with his head towards the closet. "Aren't you supposed to be in school or something?"

Kat shrugged, "Probably."

"Your Uncle know you're over here?" Collins asked sternly and Kat bit her lip.

Obviously Mark thought his niece was still in school.

With a sigh Collins retreated into the kitchen and pulled out two cups. "You know you're gonna call him," he said, hearing a muffled sound he assumed to be Kat either agreeing or disagreeing. "Get in here Kat!" he called.

Kat looked reluctantly into the room Collins had disappeared to, knowing she was about to get grilled. She'd been expecting it, and Collins didn't sound at all angry- more like he simply needed to go through the steps of acting the responsible adult on principle.

When she finally made her way to the kitchen, Collins was leaning up against a gas burning stove with his arms crossed. "How'd you know I lived here?" he asked, mostly just curious.

"Joanne told me." She hoped it wasn't some secret bit of information that she wasn't supposed to know and would get Joanne in trouble. "Why do you live here?"

Collins narrowed his eyes. Wasn't he the one asking the questions? But he answered regardless, in the simplest way he could. "It was a gift. You supposed to be in school right now?"

"Technically, I have a free period." Collins smiled at that.

"Mark know you're here?"

"No."

His eyes narrowed. "Roger?"

"No."

"How'd you get here?"

"Subway- and then I walked."

"Why?"

It was the million-dollar question and Kat didn't answer him. She just looked down at the ground and started fidgeting with the hem of her zip-up hoodie.

They'd tackle that one later, he decided. "Hungry?" he asked, suddenly switching gears, but not fast enough to trick Kat into answering affirmatively.

"Not-"

"You came here Kitty," Collins reminded and Kat shut her mouth. He pulled out some leftover salad he'd made the night before. "You like salad?" he asked and Kat nodded,

"What kind?"

"Uh…" Collins stared at the stuff. There was lettuce, cheese, tomatoes, cucumbers, carrot shreds, peppers, pickles, mushrooms… basically everything that was left over from Joanne's 'health' food, cut up and tossed. "Stuff?"

"I don't like bacon," Kat said and Collins smiled,

"Good thing I'm vegetarian." He pointed to the bar stool near the breakfast table and Kat sat down while he got a plate for her and fished some dressing out of the fridge. Setting down a rather generously mounded plate in front of her, Collins turned to attend to the tea. "Sugar, milk?" he asked and Kat shook her head, playing with the fork,

"I'm good."

"I expect you to eat at least twelve eighteenths of that," he warned, picking a random number out of his head.

"That's six ninths- two thirds," Kat simplified. She allowed a small, crooked half-smile. "You sure that's the number you want to go with?"

Collins grinned, "Stop being a smart-ass and eat." He placed mug of tea in front of her and held his own in his hands. "You like it?"

Kat shrugged, "It's alright. The power went out in the loft the other day, but it was cold enough so that nothing spoiled in the fridge. There still isn't much in there though."

"Why'd the power go off," Collins asked, a little red flag going up in his mind. It didn't make sense, especially with Mimi living there now. While Benny wouldn't have had a second thought about screwing with Mark and Roger in the past, he wasn't the kind of guy to do it now- or even ever if Mimi was involved.

"Apparently it happens sometimes," Kat said through a mouthful of food.

Collins took a thoughtful sip. "Was it Benny who did it?"

"Who's Benny?" Kat asked curiously.

"Benny's the landlord," Collins explained. So it wasn't Benny who turned off the power. "Or, he used to be. Me, Mark, Roger, Maureen and him all used to live in that loft."

Kat stopped chewing. "Four people… and Maureen?" she said, "How?"

It was a good question, and all Collins could really remember was that it was at times fun, at times frustrating, at times difficult, at times annoying and usually, almost always, loud. "I don't honestly remember," he said with a smile, "But it was crazy. Eat," Collins reminded and Kat glared at him for a moment before taking another bite of the salad.

"Was that when Uncle Mark was dating Maureen?" she asked around the food in her mouth.

"Yeah, pretty much. Well, they weren't as much dating at first as…" he trailed off, wondering if his next words were really appropriate to be telling ones niece.

But Kat seemed to understand without an explanation. "Oh, okay. Cool. Or- I guess not cool but…"

"You get it?" Collins supplied and Kat chose food over further dialogue. He laughed and went to retrieve the phone. He dialed the number of the loft and listened to it ring. "You gotta tell your Uncle where you're at," he said apologetically, handing it off when the drunken '_SPEAAAAAAAAK_' came on.

"Hey Uncle Mark- Roger, Mimi- it's Kat. I'm, uh, at Collins' right now. Nothing's wrong I just… I'm at Collins'. Call me when you get home Uncle Mark?" She directed the question to Collins, who nodded. "Yeah, I'll be here. Okay, I'll talk to you soon."

The phone got handed back to Collins, who turned it off. "Mind telling me what you're doing up here when you're supposed to be getting educated?" he asked lightly.

Kat mocked offense, "Can't I just feel like playing hokey?"

Collins gave her a look. "You don't strike me as the 'cement-the-doors-of-the-school-shut-on-the-day-of-SAT's' kind of girl."

"Looks can be deceiving," she shot back, but Collins wasn't buying it. "Fine," she relented, "You caught me. I'm a goodie-two shoes."

Collins wasn't ready to believe it. "You never did _anything_ rebellious in school?"

"Uh…" Kat tried to think of something she'd done that could be considered rebellious and not simply ignorance. "My friend was the President of the Student Body. There was this Christmas event or something that they posted up advertisements for. It was all along the hall, and almost everyday, me and… Larson would go down the hall and move all the posters so they were all above the water fountain."

Collins watched her closely to see if she was kidding, but she looked pretty serious and he couldn't contain his amusement. "For real?" he asked, wondering if he could grin any wider.

Kat laughed softly, partly reminiscing, and partly realizing how lame it had been. "She was getting so worked up over it too, it was hilarious. We'd be sitting down for lunch and she'd be going on and on about how she was positive someone was doing it just to mess with her head."

"Did she know it was you and your friend?" Collins asked, and Kat actually laughed.

"Me and Larson were the only ones who would ever help her put them back."

"Who's this Larson kid?" Collins asked absently.

Kat froze.

It wasn't something she knew how to respond to and Collins was instantly attentive. "Kitty?" The name Larson didn't ring a bell, so it definitely wasn't a member of her deceased family. "Kitty, why'd you come here?" Collins asked softly and Kitty snapped out of it,

"You convince Mimi to go to rehab, right?" she asked and Collins shook his head,

"I didn't convince her to do anything Kitty. Sometimes people just need someone to talk with to realize the obvious."

Of course, he had been the one who called Benny, who had chipped in for the detox bill, who gently pushed her into actually attending the clinic, and watered the seed in her head that sprouted from the idea of pushing through to the end with Roger at her side. But none of that could've happened if she hadn't wanted it in the first place.

Kat nodded, thinking about Roger, and how just talking with him was the solution to their problems. How just getting him to talk made him realize that all Mimi needed was some space to come to terms on her own. "Yeah, I know."

"Why?" Collins asked, still not convinced that it was the real reason she came. Choking up on a name that didn't ring any bells was never a good sign. It meant the name had never been mentioned, and that meant the name, and more importantly, the person, was important to Kat.

Collins had never thought before of the friends Kat had left behind coming to live with Mark. Yes, her family was gone but she still had a life back wherever, didn't she? And he hadn't heard a word edge-wise about any of Kat's friends. The thought of Kat cutting off her past connections troubled him deeply.

Kat looked down at her plate, playing with a tomato, "I just wanted to thank you," she whispered.

"Why would you thank me?" Collins pried gently.

It took Kat a second to answer and the fork in her hand shook. "I don't want anyone else to die," she croaked, closing her eyes tightly, trying to prevent the tears, "Especially not for Uncle Mark. I don't… I don't want him to feel like this."

Collins got up silently and went over to her, picking her up and taking her seat, resting her body on his lap, cradling her closely. "Oh Kitty," he murmured, pressing her head into his chest. She was so much like Mark she didn't even know. It hurt him that there were two people in the world like that who would experience such pain.

Times like these it was hard to forget that Kat was really just a kid. Sure, she was almost legally considered an adult, but when she was sitting in his lap, her tiny body in his big arms, sobbing, it was hard to think of her like that. She was a small child seeking condolence in those who were older than her, just begging to be comforted. "Oh, baby girl," he muttered, holding her tighter and doing his best.

The shaking was bringing back memories of death, memories of lying in a hospital and listening to the slowly falling heartbeat, of being completely and utterly incapable of helping. As long as it'd been since he'd lost his love, this was one of the bad days, and he could feel the tear starting at his heart and spreading to the rest of his body.

He started rocking the both of them back and forth, humming out a gentle beat, doing the best to soothe them. He could hear the desperate undertone in his hum and he prayed that Kat wouldn't hear it too.

Once again he felt it slowly beginning to work on Kat within minutes as she calmed, which in turn calmed him. There were no more jerking, spastic breathes of air flowing in and out of her lungs and he slowed his rocking until he was just swaying slightly side to side.

"I'm sorry," Kat whispered through a stuffed nose, hating herself for doing this to Collins once again. "I didn't mean to-"

"I know Kitty, I know," Collins murmured, hoping his own distressed hadn't been so obvious. But who was he kidding- why else would Kat have apologized to him?

"Collins…"

Kat was scared but he felt he had to address the issue at hand, just so she was ready. "Mimi's going to die eventually Kitty," he muttered.

All the energy that kept Kat's body upright drained from her with those words and she collapsed.

"Kitty?!" Collins asked, alarmed that she'd passed out.

But Kitty was sobbing again, more deeply than before and Collins cringed. "I know," she cried, the fight in her disappearing into a flame that incinerated all the resolve she had to make it through life. "You're all going to die."

Collins knew from the moment he'd said it that he'd made a mistake by saying anything in regards to Mimi. "Oh Kitty, I'm sorry," he whispered, rubbing her back and cursing himself. What a fool he was. Why did he have to make a mistake now of all times?

"I just… I don't know… Why… Oh, fuck, why?!" she sobbed, her head a deadweight on Collins chest. Collins hugged her tightly. He really didn't want to get preachy on her after he'd failed so miraculously, so he just settled on humming out the song he'd hummed as Angel died in his arms, trying not to cry and rocking them back and forth.

He hummed and hummed and hummed and it felt like Kat was dying in his arms…

… it felt like Angel was dying in his arms all over.

_His body was too weak to hold itself up in the end._

Her was slumped uselessly against him; any will to exert effort disappeared.

_His breaths came out ragged and torn, his lungs laboring to give one last burst of energy, one last breath of air, one last, one last, one last…_

Her breaths came out in soft gasps of resignation, her lungs desperately working to provide enough with what they were grudgingly being given.

_His gave in to the inevitable, a single tear shed for the one thousand kisses that would never be collected. _

She gave in to exhaustion after what seemed like hours of heavy exertion.

Collins held Kat, held Angel, held them both as tightly as he could.

He had held until his body turned cold, and he took selfish comfort in the fact that he would never experience that with Kat, who's warm body radiated in his arms.

It wasn't until her breath got so quiet he couldn't tell if it was there that he transferred her to the bed in his room. The journey hadn't stirred her in the least and not for the first time Collins was worried she wasn't getting enough sleep. Just as he was thinking about talking with Mark about it, the phone rang.

The sound was so alien and unexpected it made Collins jump. A fearful glance at Kat showed that the girl would at this point sleep through an earthquake, and he jogged towards the phone, picking it up on the third ring.

"Collins?!" It was Mark and he was breathless, no doubtingly either just getting home or just getting the message from Roger.

Collins headed into the kitchen where he was less likely to wake Kat. "Hey Mark," he said softly and he swore he felt Mark's panic through the line.

"What happened?" Mark demanded instantly, trying to be authoritative. He sounded like he was going to wet his pants. "Is Kitty okay? I-"

"Mark," Collins interrupted as calmly as he could. Mark stopped vomiting word garble and listened. "Kitty's fine," he explained, "She showed up round ten and had a bit of a breakdown an hour ago or so. She's been sleeping since."

"I'm leaving the theatre right now and I'll be there in a half," Mark said, hanging up the phone before he'd even finished.

_Fifteen minutes later…_

Mark sat on the edge of the bed, leaning on his elbow and looking thoughtfully at Kat.

She was the one person he couldn't let down and yet here he was, watching her sleep. Already he let down Roger and Collins and Maureen and Joanne- Kitty was the one person he had yet to tamper with and he wanted to keep it that way.

"Mark," Collins said gently from the doorway and Mark bit his lip.

"I wasn't here for her," he admitted, shaking his head. Nothing he ever did turned out right. "I wasn't there for her."

"Mark, you can't always be there for her," Collins pointed out softly. Mark didn't quite understand that it wasn't normal to constantly be there. That was why you had a support system, a group of friends. A small part of Collins thought that Roger had a big part to do with Mark's obsessive outlook in this respect. "That's why you've got us. Now come'on. Leave her be and I'll make you some tea."

Mark reluctantly sat up, brushing aside some hair and kissing Kat on the forehead. "I'm sorry," he whispered, touching her hand before getting up.

Collins was sitting at the table, the promised tea's water boiling behind him.

"You okay?" Collins asked, now more worried about Mark than Kitty. Everyone focused on Kitty, everyone focused on Mimi, but no one noticed Mark. He never let them notice him.

Like now.

Mark nodded his head, "Collins, she doesn't sleep enough," he said, sitting down and playing with his fingers nervously.

"Mark, are you okay?" Collins repeated. He wasn't going to take a bullshit answer this time. He wasn't going to let Mark dodge the question. He wasn't going to settle for anything less than an admission that Mark was not okay.

Mark looked to Collins in surprise. "Collins, Kitty-"

"She'll be fine Mark, I'm asking about you." He didn't mean to snap. He really didn't. He tried again, "How are you doing?"

Mark's mouth opened and closed a couple times like a goldfish before he sunk back into the wooden chair. "I don't know," he whispered finally. "Kat's not sleeping enough and instead of being there for her I'm… not."

"Mark, you can't-"

"Collins, please," Mark begged. He looked up at Collins who couldn't help but feel sorry for the guy. There were bags under his eyes, which were tinged red behind his glasses, his hair was spiked up oddly and not from gel; he looked completely worn out. "Please, not now," he pleaded.

The kettle clicked behind him and Collins stood up to prepare the tea. It was obvious that Mark wanted to be left alone. He'd already made his one huge mistake for the day and he figured he knew Mark well enough to know that he needed some space. He made up the tea and placed the mug in front of Mark, who was struggling entirely too much to hold it all together.

All he said was, "Mark, you have to take care of yourself too."

He left the kitchen and listened to Mark cry, forcing himself to believe there was nothing else he could do for his friend. And there wasn't, much less than forcing him into therapy, which would probably result in even more emotional damage with the effect it would have on the legal fallout of the guardianship battle.

After a moment, or two, not at all that long in the grand scheme of things, Mark came out of the kitchen composed, holding a mug in one hand and the phone in the other, informing Roger he'd been staying at Collins' for the night.

He sat down on the couch beside Collins, whispered a shy, "Thanks," and that was that.

- - - - -

Collins had forced Mark to take the couch for the night while he took over Kit-Kat watch. He'd sat on a chair beside the bed for a little while before that began to remind him too much of Angel, at which point he used the edge of the bed for a seat. That also became too familiar so he settled on leaning against the wall, waiting until he became tired enough to collapse into the bed.

"Collins," Kat whispered and Collins stood up straighter, wondering if he'd heard right. "Collins?" Kat repeated and he took a couple steps forward so his knees touched the edge of the bed.

"Yeah Kit-Kat?" he asked tenderly.

"Where are you?" she asked sleepily and he smiled,

"I'm at the foot of the bed Kitty."

"Where's Uncle Mark?"

Collins moved a little so she could see through the door if she so chose to look. "I forced him onto the couch. He's been sleeping for a couple hours already- not nearly as much as you."

"Collins, it's not going away," Kat whispered and Collins leant against the mattress. He'd known that this was more than just a surprise visit, more than just about playing hokey and thanking him for pressuring Mimi.

"What's not going away Kitty?" he asked softly.

Kat closed her eyes and focused on the tenderness in his low voice. "This feeling like I'm drowning. Like I'm drowning in the air. But it's not letting me die. It's just holding on and torturing me and I can't do anything about it. It's eating away at my insides, and it won't stop aching. You said it was going to get better Collins…" she opened her eyes. "It's been three weeks and it's not getting better."

He could see that she was desperate. Desperate to stop feeling like the world was crashing down around her.

And Collins couldn't do anything about it except pull her in close, cry, hum a sporadic tune and try to rock her into ease.

_A/N: Wow. That one just… sort of ran away from me…_


	27. hesayshewantstobeobsessedwithartlikeme

_Summary: Katharine once again skipped Wednesday classes, instead showing up at Collins' apartment. _

January 24 9:15 am EST  
Thursday, Homeroom

"**he says he wants to be obsessed with art, like me"**

School was a tedious task that required absolutely no skill on Kat's behalf, but the majority of her concentration.

That's why she didn't skip school more often. Thus far it had only become habit on Wednesday's, something she was surprised hadn't yet been addressed. Which was fine with her.

So when her homeroom teacher, Mrs. Sky, asked her to stay back after the rest of the class had left, she wasn't all that surprised. The school-issued agenda was packed slowly away into her bag while the rest of her peers scattered towards the two exits of the classroom as quickly as possible. The class was vacated within the minute and Kat got up, ready for whatever was to come.

"How are you today Kat?" Sky asked. It was by now common knowledge around the school that the girl Katharine Clarkson refused to answer to anything other than 'Kat', or 'Clark' or even 'Clarkson'. During the first few days a couple kids had approached her, trying to make peace and find out more about her story, but it had been wasted efforts on their behalf's.

Kat shrugged. Last night was probably the first night she'd gotten a decent sleep, and that was only because she'd been too exhausted to prevent herself. Collins' presence and his peculiar humming, and knowing that Mark was in the next room greatly helped her to relax and take her mind off actually thinking. "I guess I'm alright Mrs. Sky," she answered simply, knowing this wasn't the place to get into it.

Mrs. Sky nodded. It was a typical answer. Katharine Clarkson was nothing if not polite. "You've been asked to the Guidance Counselors office for the period. Don't worry," Sky fended off the protests, "Mr. Jacob knows that you'll be absent for the History class and says that it won't be a problem in the least."

Kat was stuck, and they both knew it. There was nothing she could really do short of fleeing the premises that would get her out of a meeting with a counselor, and even that would only be temporary. She knew she was risking her place with Mark by skipping out every Wednesday, but she couldn't handle Wednesdays any more.

"I'm not sure where the offices are," she said. It was a feeble excuse, a pathetic last attempt to avoid the unavoidable.

Sky smiled warmly and Kat cringed. "I'll show you the way," her teacher offered and Kat stood awkwardly by the desk while Sky gathered her materials for the next class.

They walked alongside one another, Kat dreading the destination with every step she took. How much did they know about her past? How much did they know about _her_?

And how much trouble was she in?

Too soon they stopped. "Just step into this office, and Mrs. Carol will take care of you," Sky indicated, opening the door. The secretary looked up with a welcoming smile.

"Thank you Mrs. Sky," Kat muttered miserably stepping into the room and giving her name as 'Kat Clarkson' to the secretary. Sky watched the student who was shrouded in mystery for a moment before closing the door, realizing she was staring. Katharine was a good, bright student and a polite person so her aloof manner was puzzling.

The secretary pointed the way through one of the doors and Kat nervously went through it, fidgeting with the bag on her shoulders. At least she was well rested, comparatively speaking. She'd have to be careful with what she said, just in case they didn't know as much as she assumed they did.

There were two pleasant enough looking ladies sitting at the table and Kat interrupted the one speaking before she finished the second syllable in Kat's name; "It's Kat, please," she requested and the speaking lady looked taken back while the other, larger one, looked confused.

"Sorry," the smaller one apologized, looking genuinely regretful. Not one of the teachers had argued with her request and for that Kat was grateful.

"Take a seat Kat," the larger one invited and Kat reluctantly slid out a seat across from them, placing her bag on the floor beside her feet. So far so good, she thought to herself. She glanced down at the folder in-between them,

"Is there anything in particular this is about?" she asked politely. She knew how to talk in situations like this: how to speak professionally and respectfully while playing just the right combination of cluelessness and cleverness.

"My name's Mrs. London," the smaller one introduced, pointing to herself like Kat was a moron. "Do you know who this is?" she indicated the woman beside her. It took Kat less than a second to determine she did not.

"I'm sorry, no, I don't."

"I'm Mrs. Harriet," the lady introduced. Kat looked at her, feeling some sort of nervous energy coming off the teacher. Maybe this was the one that would ruin her life all over again. "If you attended class on Wednesdays, you'd know my name."

"I'm sorry," Kat apologized, hoping to sound sincere. It wasn't that she didn't want to come… she just couldn't. Not yet. It was too soon.

"It took me quite a long time to even realized you'd been enrolled in my class," the teacher continued with a giddy smile, "I was imputing marks for the latest project and only then realized you'd been enrolled."

Mrs. London opened the folder, but Kat couldn't see anything other than a couple pieces of paper. "It… looks like you've been skipping your classes every Wednesday," she pointed out and Kat worked hard not to rebuttal rudely.

"Yes," she said softly, feeling cluelessness go out the window, "I'm aware of that."

"Why is that?" Mrs. London asked.

Kat tensed up, hiding her hands under the desk so that they wouldn't see her fists. There wasn't really a suitable lie that explained her absenteeism other than the truth- no good lie in any case. She cursed herself for not having the foresight to at least skip some other periods as well and make it look less periodic and planned. Perhaps there was a chance she could convince the two adults it was purely coincidence.

Mrs. Harriet seemed to sense her unease and leant back in her chair, trying to lighten things up. "Kat, the reason we're asking is because most kids who skip class do so because the subject matter is frustrating for them. It's obvious you excel in your schoolwork. They also skip classes erratically- while you, however, seem keen on either avoiding this day, or avoiding my class specifically."

Purely coincidence flew out the window. "I assure you that it's not any kind of discrimination towards you," Kat promised amicably, still debating what to tell them.

"Then why don't you tell us what this is about? The reason we wanted to meet with you is because it's obvious to us that there's some underlying conflict."

"With all due respect Mrs. London, Mrs. Harriet," she met their eyes, hoping to show that she was serious. "I meet with a therapist every Thursday after school and it's difficult enough for me to speak candidly with him," she admitted softly. "I would really just rather accept the consequences than discuss my situation with the both of you."

Mrs. London looked slightly offended at the prospect, but Mrs. Harriet appeared to be working something out in her head. "You do realize that the penalty for every three classes skipped is lunch-served detention?" Mrs. London snapped, and Kat was sure that denying her request to help was seen as personal. "Do you're parents know that you're skipping school so often? We'd be required to call them."

Her parents were the reason she was skipping school, and yes, they probably were aware of it.

But Mark didn't know that she skipped school ever Wednesday. Well, he knew about yesterday, but not the week before that. She was pretty sure only Roger knew about that, and he hadn't tattled on her yet.

Then Mrs. Harriet said, "Her parents died."

What the fuck just happened? She felt like passing out.

What. The. Fuck.

Mrs. London's mouth made a small 'o' shape and Kat trembled. Mrs. London was spluttering out an embarrassed apology of some sorts but Kat only had eyes for Mrs. Harriet. "H-how… do you know that?" she demanded in a small, quivering voice. Her cheeks burned up and suddenly the room became a sauna, but she couldn't move.

"I've heard a lot about you," Mrs. Harriet said softly, as if just realizing what she'd said hadn't been the most tactful thing to say. "It's nice to finally meet you, and I'm sorry to hear about what happened to your family. You have my deepest condolences."

But Kat didn't want condolences, she wanted anonymity. She wanted to run away and hide from this person who was threatening her new life in New York. "I-I…. what… I think…you have the wrong person Mrs. Harriet," she finished, trying to get herself back under control. She refused to lose her mind after completely breaking down with Collins, in the counseling office of the school no less.

"I… don't believe so," Mrs. Harriet insisted, but nonetheless she appeared a little hesitant. "Katharine Clarkson, right?"

Kat swallowed with difficulty.

This was so not happening to her right now.

"Yeah," she whispered. The room seemed smaller than it was when she first entered and she could feel herself beginning to sweat.

"I've been an avid follower of your work for years- truly genius," Mrs. Harriet said softly and Kat shook her head.

She had to get out of there. Get out before the walls closed in on her and suffocated her. "Look," she said, standing up. The room spun on its axis around her and she had to grip the back of the chair so she wouldn't fall. "You have the wrong person," she insisted through the dizziness, "I'm not this… this person you think I am."

Mrs. Harriet evaluated her, confused. "But…"

"I'm sorry. It's just not me."

The teenager turned heel and almost ran out the door. By the time Mrs. London had registered what'd happened, Harriet had determined that this was the child prodigy she'd been admiring her whole adult life.

"What was that all about?" Mrs. London asked.

Harriet sighed. "I read an article in a paper once- I'm positive that's the same Katharine Clarkson. Her entire family died in a car crash about three weeks ago… Tragic, really, considering the youngest one..." Harriet tried to remember the other specifics of the article, "She moved to the East Village to live with an Uncle, some local short-lived celebrity that produced a documentary on AIDS and the homeless…" That was all she could remember from the article.

"Then why… where did she go?" Mrs. London questioned and Harriet shrugged standing up to leave.

"I'm not sure, but we need to call her guardian- make sure she comes into class next week. I'll know for sure if it's the same person then…" Harriet paused at the door. "Mind you don't comment on her record yet- I have a feeling there's much more going on with that girl than either of us can fathom."

- - - - -

Kat was hiding behind the school, sitting on the ground with her head between her knees, trying to hide from the world.

Two weeks. She'd lasted two weeks at this school before they'd figured out whom she was. _Used to be_ she corrected silently in her head. Fuck that. Why'd it have to be so soon? There was no way she'd be able to handle this. And soon there wouldn't be anywhere else left to hide from it.

Mark had been her one chance for a fresh start. Someone she could trust, but someone who would take care of her, someone who lived in a place where she had no connections. Where she was nobody.

And now all that would be ruined because of a fucking teacher who had too much time on her hands.

There were footsteps coming into her secluded hideaway and she hoped whomever they belonged to would get the idea the space was occupied, and that the occupant wanted to be left alone.

"Hey."

Kat cringed. The chain link fence separating the school from the community surrounding it was just a couple feet in front of her, and there was someone standing between her and that chain. A student, by the sound of his voice. Deciding to ignore him, Kat didn't bother raising her head or addressing the boy.

"You look like you could use some cheering up right about now," the boy continued and Kat sighed loudly.

Couldn't he tell she just wanted to be left alone?

"So what's your name?" he asked and she looked up sharply. The boy was probably as old as she was, his hair cropped closely to his head and a scar cutting his left eyebrow in two with an indent about halfway through. He was wearing a baggy sweater and duct tapped sneakers.

Kat glared at him. "Look, I don't know what you want, but I'm sorry- I'm not really in the mood for socializing right now." She was trying her hardest not to be rude, but the sentences wouldn't came out like that.

The boy shrugged, "Well, I'm Brain in any case." He touched the chain attached to one of his skinny jean belt loops, "And who said anything about socializing?"

"I don't know you," Kat said dryly. Usually most of the other kids left by this point, but this particular guy was persistent.

Brain laughed, pulling what looked like a joint out of his pocket. He flopped down on the cold gravel, "And you need experience to get a job that will get you said experience," he philosophized.

Kat rolled her eyes, "That's different."

"No," Brain said patiently, "It's a valid argument."

The way Brain said it reminded her a bit of Collins. He struck up a match and carefully shielded it while lighting the joint.

"So you going to take the risk and get to know me?" he asked, offering it to her.

Collins was bad enough at disguising his smoking that she knew this was what a normal joint looked like. And if Collins did it, well, it couldn't be that bad could it?

She took the joint and surrendered herself to the sensations it brought, allowing Brain to sit beside her and coach her through it.

It felt good.

_A/N: Thanks to those who reviewed, and thank you especially to Diggy, who's undying, constant and enthusiastic support for this story has motivated me to keep going again and again. _


	28. femaletofemale

_Summary: Joanne came back to Maureen but has thus far been sleeping on the couch during the night._

January 26th 4:50 pm EST

MoJo Apartment

"**female to female"**

The keys on the ring jingled against one another loudly, squealing in protest at the rough way Joanne was handling them… and then Joanne realized that she was personifying inanimate metal objects in her mind.

It was really time to get some sleep.

And maybe finally figure out which key opened the door to her apartment?

Why the heck were there so many keys anyways? There was one for the office, the filing cabinet in her office, the car no one really knew how to drive, the door to the garage where it was parked, the door to the apartment building, the door to her apartment, the key for storage room for the apartment building, the key to _her_ storage room in the storage room, the door to Collins' apartment and a separate one for his building, the door to her parents' place, the door to her little sisters and said sisters detached garage, the place in Pound Ridge, the recreation area at Pound Ridge, a key (or two) that may or may not have been to another car (presumably her parents), the one to the-

There was a scream from inside her apartment and she felt like a bucket of cold water had been splashed on her face. "Honey Bear," she whispered petrified, quickly flipping back through the keys and attempting to find the one that was for the door to the apartment.

Why the hell did all the keys look the same??

Time for Plan B, Joanne sighed mentally, shifting through the keys with just one hand.

The other one she lifted and began pounding on the door with screaming, "Let me in! Let me in! Maureen! Let me in Honey Bear!"

As luck would have it, the second she had the correct key in her fingers and poised to enter the door, it opened on it's own accord. Or, rather, Maureen opened in.

"Are you okay?" Joanne demanded, ignoring the next-door neighbor who had come out of his apartment to see what the fuss was all about.

Maureen looked like she had tears in her eyes and, yeah, there went one falling down her perfectly beautiful face. Joanne reached up and touched her face, wiping the tear away.

"I heard a scream," she explained, "What happened? Is everything okay? Is the…"

"You called me Honey Bear…" Maureen whispered and Joanne shifted uncomfortably,

"Yes. Yes, I did."

Tears started leaking from Maureen's eyes faster than Joanne could wipe them. "You haven't called me Honey Bear in… in…" Maureen sniffed, "Forever."

A melting heart wasn't something Joanne had ever physically and literally experienced, but it felt like that when Maureen looked at her. It was a moment after that, that Joanne realized Maureen was holding a ladle. Or, what appeared to have once been a ladle. It sort of looked like a shrunken, shriveled, half an orange peel. Only in white.

"Maureen, what happened to that spoon?"

"Uh?" Maureen was still wiping tears from her cheeks, waving at her eyes to preserve her make-up. It took a moment for her to compose herself but then she let out a nervous giggle when Joanne pointed. "Funny thing- did you know that plastic melts?" she asked with an adorably bemused facial expression.

"Oh-kay," Joanne said, taking the spoon from Maureen's hands, "I guess that means we're buying metal appliances from now on."

"Metal's more environmentally friendly," Maureen added, pulling Joanne into the apartment and shutting the door. But not before fingering the elder man that was their neighbor, who scowled and slammed his door in response.

"Honey Bear," Joanne muttered disapprovingly, sniffing the air cautiously. Sometimes Maureen knew how to cook. And other times… there were fire alarms.

"Pookie!" Maureen squealed and Joanne realized she could do no bad in her mind while she was being referred to as 'Honey Bear'.

"Maureen," she tried again but Maureen was already going off towards the kitchen, a light bounce in her step.

Rolling her eyes Joanne took off her coat, hanging it up and placing Maureen's shoes into the closet before shutting it. "You know," she said, creating conversation out of habit. At least, that's what she told herself after she realized she was speaking out loud. "I was thinking maybe I should thin out the key ring."

"Why?" Maureen called from the kitchen and Joanne walked towards it, steeling herself for whatever disaster it looked like had torn through the kitchen that day. The mutilated ladle had already been saved from complete annihilation in any case.

Leaning against the doorframe, she figured it wasn't that bad. Maureen was facing the stove with a new cooking utensil in her hand so Joanne said, "Because it took my five minutes to get through the front door," to her back.

Maureen turned around, her head cocked to one side. A hand holding a plastic flipping tool rested on her hip and the other played idly with her hair. There was something on her mind but Joanne wasn't sure if she was going to ask it. "You don't know what your house key looks like?" she finally asked, chewing on her bottom lip.

"There are a lot of them on there Honey Bear," Joanne explained patiently. The flipper in Maureen's hand was dipping towards the element on the stove and Joanne eyed it wearily. That wasn't a good sign.

For some reason it didn't occur to her to tell Maureen that it was about to be disfigured.

"Well, yeah," Maureen said, still chewing on her bottom lip, still ringing the hair around her finger, "But you would think after using it everyday-"

Joanne narrowed her eyes, recognizing the tone of voice. "Are you trying to start a fight?" Joanne demanded, recognizing the tone of voice. She narrowed her eyes as Maureen spluttered,

"I- No." Joanne raised an eyebrow and Maureen cringed. "You know Mark can do that too, right?" she asked. Internally she winced, berating herself for bringing Mark into the conversation. That was usually always a sore spot.

The venom in Joanne's voice increased ten-fold: "Then what are you doing?"

"Cooking," Maureen answered smartly, wrinkling her nose and pointing to the table with her free hand. "Sit," she commanded.

A part of Joanne knew that there was a good chance that they'd be making a phone call to the yummy Chinese delivery place in an hour or so. So it was out of want to spare her girlfriends pride, she said, "Maureen..."

"No, sit," Maureen insisted, pointing the flipper to emphasize her point. There was a small part of the edge that was no longer straight. "Tonight Pookie, I'm treating you." It was said with such excitement and finality that Joanne almost felt bad teasing her about it as she reluctantly sat down;

"If you're sure I won't have to be my own lawyer…"

"I'm not that bad of a cook!" Maureen whined, throwing her hands down. The already damaged flipper landed on the element. Once again, the plastic slowly began to bend under the pressure.

"The flipper's melting onto the stove again," Joanne pointed out deadpan. A look confirmed Joanne's assessment of the flipper's unfortunate placement and Maureen screamed. "Honey Bear!" Joanne yelled standing up, more unnerved then actually mad.

The flipper was thrown into the sink: "That wouldn't have happened if you hadn't been distracting me!"

"And you wouldn't have been distracted if what I say wasn't true," Joanne argued and Maureen glared at her, crossing her arms childishly.

The water behind her began to boil. "So you are calling me a bad cook," she accused and before Joanne could respond she threw up her hands, stomping away from the stove and past Joanne. "Fine. Make your own fucking food," she declared, throwing herself into a chair.

After a moment of debate, Joanne crossed the kitchen to turn off the elements. When she turned around Maureen was still sulking. "Maureen," she said exasperated but Maureen wouldn't let her continue,

"You know what; you don't like my food, fine. Who gives a fuck? But I spent the entire _day-_"

"You woke up at four," Joanne pointed out,

"The _entire day_ preparing this for you." Then she muttered, "The least you could do was appreciate it," and Joanne actually felt a little guilty.

"I do appreciate it," she said genuinely, hoping to remedy the situation.

"Funny way of showing it," Maureen muttered. It was more grumpy than mad and Joanne could tell that the apology meant a lot. Hoping that it had also pacified her, Joanne took a couple steps forward so she could kneel down and push back a lock of Maureen's wild hair.

"Honey Bear, I think you're a wonderful cook."

Maureen scoffed, "Well, now you're just lying through you're teeth."

"We've all got to compromise," Joanne shrugged. But Maureen was amused and another fight had been avoided. She took Maureen's hands, "And you like my teeth," she added, lifting one up to her mouth and biting on it gently.

"Like hell I do," Maureen brushed off, pulling her hand back but there was a small smile on her lips and a mischievous glint in her eyes.

And Joanne could see it all. "That's not what you were saying last night Honey Bear," she whispered playfully and Maureen dismissed the accusation almost immediately,

"Of course it wasn't. I was letting you have fun last night. And then you had to up and leave." It was a risky move, but Maureen wanted to address Joanne's absence from their bed the past couple nights. It always hurt a little more, realizing that her mistake hadn't yet been forgiven. That Joanne was still angry with her; angry enough that she couldn't spend the night with her.

There was a pause that followed Maureen's comment, which had potential for awkwardness but Joanne brushed past it; "I think we both know who was having fun last night Maureen," she suggested, continuing with their light banter.

Maureen's face dropped for a moment, realizing that the time wasn't now. 'Honey Bear' may have made it back on the list, but falling asleep together still wasn't. At least she had the optimism to think it couldn't last much longer with 'Honey Bear' back on the list. So she grinned and didn't say anything more.

It didn't take long for Joanne to salvage the wreckage that had been Maureen's latest attempt at cooking. As Joanne had thought before- sometimes Maureen knew how to cook, and other times, there were fire alarms. This was definitely a time for the first.

"This is good," she said with some surprised, forking some rice and placing it into her mouth. There were even spices and some green things that were a little burnt, but tasted like peas.

"I know," Maureen grinned and Joanne rolled her eyes,

"I see you're not lacking in modesty,"

"It's not my ego- I'm just awesome," Maureen reassured and Joanne felt the familiar twinge of annoyance:

"How- you know what? I'm going to finish eating and take a nice long nap. And when I wake up, there's going to be a hot bath in the bathroom ready for me complete with salts and bubbles and candles and wine." The way she was looking at Maureen made it obvious who was supposed to fill out these requests.

"Who says?" Maureen challenged and Joanne gave her a playful glare,

"I'm still mad at you, that's who."

Maureen pretended to think about it for a moment. "Fine," she said, standing up. "But on one condition."

"What?" Joanne asked, raising her eyebrow suspiciously.

Ignoring another Mark-related comment Maureen grinned seductively and ran her hands along the top of Joanne's shoulders. Leaning down she whispered into Joanne's ear, "That the bathtub includes me."

Turning her head so that Maureen's face was less than an inch away from her she whispered back, "I thought that was implied."

Maureen adopted a cocky grin, "I sort of like this, you-being-mad-at-me."

"Me too," Joanne admitted, mirroring the grin. They looked at one another for a couple more seconds before the urge to kiss became too intense to deny.

Once they had finished, Maureen found herself on Joanne's lap; Joanne's hand was resting on her slightly popped stomach. "How's the baby doing?" Joanne asked tenderly and Maureen almost started crying. Maybe tonight would really be the night where she would fall asleep and wake up in her Pookie's arms in the morning.

But she pushed away the sentimental and grinned wickedly. "Doing as good as you'll be doing in a couple hours," she promised, giving Joanne a final kiss on the nose before standing up. Joanne followed her up, collecting the dinner plates and putting them in the sink. She was about to start the water when she heard Maureen ask shyly,

"Hey Pookie?" from the door.

"Yeah Honey Bear?" she asked, taking her hand off the tap.

"I love you," Maureen whispered and Joanne hesitated for just one second before reciprocating;

"I love you too Honey Bear."

Maureen was playing with the hem of her shirt. Instantly Joanne thought of Maureen playing with her shirt the day she'd found out about the pregnancy and subsequent revelations. "Maureen," she started nervously, but Maureen stuck out her bottom lip and said,

"Think maybe you could stick around tonight? I…" she looked down, embarrassed. "I get a little lonely in that big bed all by myself."

"Maureen…" Joanne suppressed a sigh. When it had happened she didn't know, but she knew that when she said, "Honey Bear, I think I will," she meant it. Maureen smiled, one of her venerable, unguarded, precious smiles, and Joanne knew she'd made her Honey Bear happy. "I think I will," she whispered to herself as she started on the dishes.

And she did.

_A/N: Y'all know my feeling on MoJo… but 'tis necessary. Anyways, thank you a thousand-times over to those who reviewed last chapter. As always, they did, do, continue to, and hopefully (for those to come), will mean a lot. :-)_

_Questions, comments and concerns are always welcome. _


	29. latelyi'msofilledwithfright

**January 27****th****, Sunday**

"**lately i'm so filled with fright i rarely share i criticize"**

Counting the five-minute nap she got with Mimi the other day, and the hour long one in the morning while Roger was practicing all thirteen songs from his rough soon-to-be-gig list, Kat was not a happy camper. Even her physical appearance was starting to show the signs of her fatigue, which terrified Mark. For the first time the inhabitants of the loft were experiencing what Roger had dubbed a 'sour mood' early in the morning.

The 'sour mood' was something Mark was oddly elated about; it wasn't the stoic mood she sometimes lapsed into and it was better than the constantly-in-tears one that made him want to shrivel up into a blacked, rock hard rotting vegetable. It was even better than the mood that danced in limbo between the two, one that wasn't quite sad but not quite absent.

It meant that she was adjusting.

Or that Mark was over thinking it and just grasping onto anything that made him feel just _that_ much better about himself.

Another factor in his assessment probably had to do with the fact he didn't have to deal with said 'sour mood'.

"Be good Kitty," he called with one foot out the door, grimacing at the whine in his voice. 'Good luck' he mouthed to Roger; the noises coming from inside Kat's room were the kind usually only heard when Mimi was on rampage and there'd already been a couple minor spats between Kat and the three of them.

'Bastard' Roger muttered back, handing Mimi her AZT and a glass of water.

"Take _your_ AZT," Mark reminded and Roger rolled his eyes. No sooner had Mark closed the door than a bang emitted from inside the room. The water in the glass in Mimi's hand found its way onto Roger's shirt and he called out tentatively, "Kitty, you alright in there?"

Before he could cross over to see what had happened, Kat opened the door, hands balled up in tight white fists. "Kitty?" he asked again.

Kat nodded, a strange look passing across her face. It flickered for a moment then retreated. "I'm fine Roger," he muttered moodily shifting her eyes down and cradling her hand.

"You're hand okay?" Roger pressed, staying behind Mimi and the couch, speaking a little bit too loudly and feeling ridiculously awkward with the amount of shit between them.

Kat's eye twitched but she nodded, staring at them. After a moment she sighed, teasing them with a hint of the ever-elusive smile; "You know, this has to be one of the most bizarre living arrangement in the world."

Mimi laughed, surprising even herself and dispelling some of the tension. "What?" she asked as two pairs of eyes turned to her, all with worried (and slightly bemused) expressions. "It's true."

Roger stroked her hair, smiling, "That it is baby," he muttered under his breath.

"Is Mark gone?" Kat asked, trying to peer into Roger and Mimi's room.

Jumping over the couch to sit by Mimi, Roger nodded, "Yeah, left just a second ago."

A scowl replaced the small smile. "Could've fucking let me know," she grumbled.

Roger happened to hear the comment; "He did- he told you to-" Mimi quickly put her finger to his lips as he tried to stick up for Mark, and shook her head. As aggravated as Kat was right now, the last thing she needed to hear was being told to 'behave'. Apparently this hadn't occurred to Roger, "To uh…" his mind struggled to come up with an adequate cover, "Um… try and, sleep, some?"

"Did he ask me or did he tell me," Kat asked in a genuine, honest-to-God snap.

"Does it really matter?" Roger snapped back, feeling his own temper rising, a heat creeping up the back of his neck. Mimi squeezed his hand, reminding him to breath, reminding him that Kat wasn't usually like this. Reminding him to not take it personally.

Tipping her head upward Mimi whispered, "Don't be too harsh," half an inch away from his lips before kissing him lightly.

"Fuckin' can't find a room to do that?" Kat muttered from behind them and Roger froze, clenching his hands tightly. Mimi's hand happened to still be in one and she winced from the vice-like clamp. Even she was finding it hard to keep coming up with excuses for Kat's behavior. The snide comments had been happening for the past three hours and there was only so much she could take before cracking like Roger was.

The anger was clearly visible in Roger's eyes so Mimi decided to take control before he did or said something he'd regret later. "Honey, why don't you come sit down with us for a little while?" she suggested and Roger shot her a look.

The expression almost caused Mimi to burst out in laughter- Kat was a hormonal, emotional teenager that was just beginning to enter a new stage of mourning. She was not a scimitar wielding crazed grave robber that was going to steal all their belongings away from them by the time the noon bell rang.

But Mimi didn't laugh, because Kat would most definitely take offense in her current state. Instead she tried to do damage control as Kat accidentally knocked over Roger's Fender on her way to the couch; instantly Roger was on his feet, just as Kat began shouting:

"Why the fuck is the goddamn guitar ALWAYS in the way? Don't you have a damn stand for it?!"

Roger also started yelling: "Be careful you idiot! That was expensive! We don't have much money if you haven't noticed!"

"Oh, what's that supposed to mean you bastard? That you regret I live here, eating your food and spending your fucking money?!"

"Where the hell are you- What the fuck are you talking about?! I never-"

"You know what I'm talking about ROGER!! I see how you-"

"If I did I wouldn't be asking you KAT! If I knew-"

"You're a fucking asshole, you know that? A fucking-"

"Guys," Mimi tried, tugging on Roger's shirt but they bellowed right over her voice:

"What the hell is your problem?! Why the-"

"YOU'RE MY FUCKING PROBLEM!"

"_**STOP**_!!"

Somehow Mimi's voice managed to get them to stop shouting at each other. Thankfully there was still a chair, the guitar and a coffee table between them. At least she didn't need to physically pull them apart. So she did the rational thing and said, "I think we all need a little time out."

"I'm not in preschool Mimi," Kat growled angrily and Roger stepped in front of Mimi,

"Don't talk to her like that," he warned and Kat glared at him,

"Or what, jackass?" she sneered.

"Oh-kay," Mimi said, pulling Roger back and forcing him to sit down. "Let's just not talk for a minute, cool off. Okay?"

Usually it was Mark mediating arguments between Roger and her and it felt weird being in his position. She turned to Kat, frowning when the teen opened her mouth. "One minute," she reminded, holding up a finger and keeping count on her head. Kat closed her mouth, glowering at her.

Silence filled the loft and it was the tensest Roger had felt since Mark and he had been fighting the day of Angel's funeral.

Memories of the funeral hit him hard and he reached for Mimi's hand, grabbing her and pulling her onto his lap. He embraced her tightly, careful not to hurt her, but desperately needing the reassuring warmth of her body in his arms. Those were memories and times he didn't regret feeling, but didn't necessarily enjoy remembering.

Mimi counted silently in her head, her fingers weaving through Roger's hair… come to think of it; he seriously needed a haircut. She didn't mind the long hair, but long was long enough at a certain point. Maybe once… later on, he could grow it out really long so he could tie it back, but it made him look incredibly old the way it was now.

Forty eight, forty nine, forty, forty one, forty two, forty three, forty four, forty five, forty six, forty seven, forty eight, forty nine, (she realized she'd been counting those numbers twice), sixty.

"Okay," she said evenly, breaking the silence that had turned awkward, "Now let's try to not jump at each others throat."

Roger was the first one to take initiative and he pulled his face away from her neck where it'd been nuzzled. "Don't you have homework or something to do in your room?" he asked in a voice that was clearly being restrained.

It wasn't really what Mimi had been looking for, but at least they weren't yelling any more.

Kat, however, looked scandalized. "Are you trying to send me to my room?"

Roger took a deep breath and Mimi felt him forcefully relaxing his body; "We don't need you out here if all you're going to do is yell and swear."

"This is fucking crazy," Kat muttered, shaking her head, rolling her eyes, crossing her arms, rocking from foot to foot.

But she wasn't crying.

"Look Kat, if-"

"I'm fucking going Roger!" she yelled giving him one last disgusted look before spinning on her heel and storming into her room. The door slammed so hard it rattled, the sound vibrating all through the loft.

"Fuck," Roger exhaled, his head falling into Mimi's shoulder. Mimi let it rest there for a moment before pushing it back up,

"Roger…" she said and he grumbled,

"Yeah, yeah, I know… Fuck, what's her problem anyways?"

Was she the only one that understood where Kat's mood was coming from? They'd all experienced it, she was positive of that. Roger probably the most out of all of them after April. "Baby, you know how Collins went on that binge after Angel died?" Mimi asked, electing against bringing April up. Roger nodded and Mimi put a hand on his cheek, "This is just Kitty's version of that, love."

Recognition seemed to flicker in Roger's eyes and Mimi tried to ignore the thought that this would be the perfect time to slide out the door, head down the stairs and steal away to Thomas Square Park for a hit.

Now was soo not the time.

"Roger…" she said again, sliding off his lap and he grumbled,

"I know. I'll go in a second." Taking a blanket off the edge of the couch he wrapped it around Mimi, kissing her forehead, "Don't go anywhere," he muttered, tucking in the edges as he stood up.

Mimi wrapped her arms around herself and clutched her shoulder blades with her hands. "Go," she whispered to Roger.

- - - - -

The anger was unexplainable and she couldn't understand where it came from. The smallest thing would set her off and most of the time while she was saying something there was a part of her that was asking her why.

And she didn't know why, she just knew that she did it. But what she felt when she was fighting with Roger… that had been real anger. Maybe not anger at Roger himself; it reminded her of when she'd gotten mad at Maureen, way back when, storming out of the loft and to the roof.

A small part of her knew that Roger was right in sending her to her room, that she deserved it and was being completely irrational- that part was a little ashamed of her behavior. That part wouldn't be heard until much later though.

There was a knock at the door and she really didn't want to speak to either of the two it could be. "Kitty, can I come in?" Roger's voice asked softly and he sounded different from five minutes ago. Calmer. "I'm going to take silence as a yes," he warned but Kat didn't say anything.

She wasn't as calm as Roger but she didn't want to yell anymore.

Roger opened the door slowly coming in. He looked like he wanted to call a truce. Kat scrambled up so that her head was against the headboard, leaning against the pillows, arms crossed. The repent had left Roger, but the softness hadn't; he decided to tackle the obvious first, "I don't think Mark would like it if he knew how much you swore when he's not around."

"Why the hell not?" Kat demanded in a low voice, "Everyone else swears in this shit-hole, why the fuck shouldn't I?"

After casting a glance to the couch where Mimi was well on the road to slumber land, Roger closed the door quietly behind him and entered the room. "Look," he said gently, "Everyone else in this shit-hole chose this life- they made their own decisions and those were the decisions that led them here."

"Then you're saying it's my decision whether or not I want to swear," Kat summarized and Roger's left hand clenched,

"No." He took a deep breath. His fingers dropped. "What I'm saying is that it wasn't your choice to be here and we get that. You didn't have any say in the matter. It's harsh," he added when her badass expression flickered, "But it's the truth."

"I…" Kat trailed off, her arms dropping down from their crossed position. She couldn't meet Roger's eye. "I didn't have to go with Mark," she admitted softly, the fight gone from her voice.

"What?" Roger asked the second the words process.

"I didn't have to go with him," she repeated dully. "I- it's just, he's always made me… you know. Whenever he was there, he's just-"

"Like that," Roger provided and Kat nodded in agreement. "I get it," Roger smiled, "Trust me, I really do."

"I chose to come here."

Kat still can't meet his eye and he sits down on the edge of the bed, "No, you didn't," he stressed. "Me, Collins, Maureen, Joanne- we've all chosen this life. Hell, Mark's even chosen this life, and we both know how easily he could sell out and make millions."

"What are you getting at?" Kat asked tightly and Roger played with the fabric under his fingers,

"That you're not from here."

Kat let out an emotionless laugh, "If you're trying to make me feel better-"

Roger once again cut her off, "You're made for better stuff than this. Just like Mark is, when he realizes what an idiot he is for hanging out with losers like us- you're going to go places in your life, Kitty, and you can't let this place or what happened bring you down. I know you can't just let it go… but don't let it destroy what you've got going, okay?"

Something deeper than what he'd been trying to say was going through Kat's head and he wondered what it was. What from Kat's past made his words sink in so much more than they originally may have? Not usually one to reach out first, he scooted down the bed spread, touching Kat's leg lightly to let her know that he was there.

"You're not a loser…" Kat muttered and he took his hand away from her shin, knowing this wasn't going to be one of those feely-share-y moments.

"Forget I said that," he said with a small smile, "Just, try to remember that none of this is your fault. That if you just stick through it and don't let down, you'll make it."

"This coming from a former rock-star."

"Hey," he protested playfully because the malice, the smarminess, the venom was gone from her voice and it was teasing again. "That's Mister former rock-star to you young lady," he informed, poking her in the side.

She laughed and rolled away from him, almost falling off the bed, which in turn caused him to laugh. "I like the changes you made to the gig list," she said off-hand and he smiled, even though he knew she'd slept through more than half of it.

"Yeah? Well, hopefully they'll be permanent soon. You want something to eat?" he asked, standing up and hovering by the bed.

Kat shook her head, feeling the guilt from her actions that morning. "Uh, Roger?" she asked as he moved to leave the room and he stopped walking away and turned around. "I'm here now, aren't I?"

"Yeah," Roger nodded, "And…?" he prompted when she said nothing.

"I'm sorry I swore at you," she apologized sincerely, "And yelled at you. And Mimi. And almost broke your guitar. And-"

"I get it," Roger interrupted, grinning. "We're cool Kitty, don't worry."

Kat nodded but the guilt wouldn't go away. "Oh, Roger?" she called, relieved she'd remembered, and Roger made sure Mimi was still sleeping on the couch before turning around,

"Yeah Kitty?"

"Take your AZT already."

_A/N: Roger's learning how to resolve fights, apparently! Yay! Thanks for everyone who reviewed, and sorry for the wait for this chapter. It… underwent a lot of changes. Maybe it just felt like longer?_


	30. lookawayfromthemirrornow

"**look away from the mirror, now"**

**Monday January 28****th****, 12:03 pm **

There were kids yelling and running this way and that- the chaos surrounded her, engulfed her, took over her senses and consumed her mind. Made it hard, nearly impossible to think, to remember, to do anything except absorb the sounds of the playground. The kids screamed, the swings screeched, the gravel kicked up, life around her moved and lived. Fragments of conversation breezed here and back; someone walked up to her, a familiar smell filled her nostrils- her eyes opened to confirm her hunch:

"Brian."

"Kat," he acknowledged with a nod, slumping down beside her. The chain against their backs rattled and he rubbed his palms against the knees of his jeans, "This the new hang-out?"

Kat didn't say anything, just leant her head back against the chain-link and closed her eyes. Every lunch since he'd initially offered her the joint they'd been getting together and smoking- never too much (Kat didn't want to go to any classes high) but it'd become their routine.

Always in the narrow gap behind school and in front of the chain-link Brian would offer her a joint, they would sit down and sometimes talk, but more often than not lapsed into the sort of companionable silence Kat was comfortable with.

For some reason, Brian didn't seem inclined to follow the pattern today; "How was your weekend?" he asked and Kat ignored him.

Yes, she knew fully well she was being a bitch, but her head was still swimming from her feelings yesterday and she wasn't sure how to respond to him without bringing those feelings up. She wasn't sure how to respond to those feelings at all; it scared her to think that maybe they would still be there when she went back home.

Everything was so confusing now- she couldn't seem to make sense of it however hard she tried. She was sitting at a stoplight but there were no familiar colors- they were odd shapes of purple and blue and lavender. And she knew she was driving everyone around her crazy, but she couldn't seem to pinpoint just what was setting her off- so she was sitting by the park, listening to the children yelling.

Apparently that was soothing to her.

"Kat, you in there?"

Sometimes she wished she could play deaf. "Yeah."

"What's up?"

So many people were wondering that- hell, even she was wondering it; how could she possibly answer a question like that? "I just don't want to talk Brian," she muttered and Brian nodded,

"Alright, that's fair."

There was silence for just a moment before a kid screamed somewhere in the park and Kat snapped open her eyes- it stood out from all the others n the park, and unlike all the others it was very clearly produced from genuine fear.

"What?" Brian asked, noticing the change but not in tune with what had caused it.

Another scream from the same source and Kat stood up, her eyes roaming the playground, searching for the position of the child. If there was one thing she couldn't stand, it was a child in distress. Brian stood up and touched her shoulder, "Kat, what the hell?"

"Can't you hear that?" Kat whispered, straining her ears. The park wasn't that elaborate and she could see all the kids- it was just that they all looked normal, and the ones she could see screaming looked to be doing so out of fun.

Her eyes passed a kid hanging from the monkey bars just as his mouth opened just as another terrified scream ripped across the playground. Kat took off at a run and was at the scene before Brian even realized she'd left.

Three kids stood in a semi-circle around the one hanging off the bar watching him with their mouths agape as his feet dangled about a foot above the ground. "What's going on?" Kat demanded and one of the girls standing to the left of the boy on the bars shrugged,

"He won't stop screaming."

Kat refrained from commenting on her explanation. Instead she went up to the boy, touching his arm gently. "Hey kiddo, what's wrong?" she asked softly, but the kid wouldn't stop crying and now there were tears coming down his face.

"What's his name?" she asked as he let out another scream and one of the boys said,

"Robert."

"Robert, buddy, what's wrong?" she asked, bending down a little so she was level with the kid. Robert refused to open his eyes and just began crying louder, his hanging feet kicking in distress. "Robbie, you gotta talk to me so I can help you," Kat whispered, getting closer and putting a hand on his back.

The muscles in his back were quivering. Kat could feel herself starting to panic. "Robert, what's wrong?"

"Iwannamommy!" he burst out suddenly, kicking out wildly and shaking his head as much as he could hanging from the bars.

It took a second for her to figure out what he'd shouted but somehow she understood. "If you let go of the bar I promise I'll get you to your Mom," she assured and the boy shook his head,

"Iwannamommy!"

"Robbie, buddy, you have to let go of the bar first," Kat tried to explain, putting her hand lightly on his fingers. She didn't understand how he could still possibly be holding on. The kid didn't look older than six.

Someone was tugging on her coat and she turned around to see the girl looking up at her, Brian standing behind the other two boys. "Robbie's afraid of heights," she offered and Kat nodded,

"Okay. Thanks. Robbie," she said, turning back to the boy, "I'm gonna pick you up, okay? And then you're gonna let go."

"Iwannamommy!" Robert repeated and Kat leaned into him, putting an arm under his bum and lifting his body up, stopping before his head hit the bar.

With his weight now being supported, Robert stopped crying and opened his eyes tentatively, like he was scared to see what had happened, why he was no longer hanging. Yes, she knew that feeling. Kat smiled at him, "Hey sweetheart." Sniffling, he looked at the bar in his hands but still refused to let go of it. "I promise you won't fall if you let go of that," she encouraged, nodding towards the metal.

Robert looked at her, eyes big and brown and watery and far too sad. "I wan' ma Mommy," he whined pathetically.

Kat swallowed the lump in her throat. "Trust me Robbie, I know how you feel," she said truthfully. Goddamn, did she ever know how the kid felt. "But if you let go of the bar you're not going to fall 'cause I'm holding onto you, right?"

A small nod.

"Let go of it Robbie, there's nothing to be scared of. I've got you buddy."

"You ain't gonna le'me go?" Robert whispered doubtfully and Kat nodded,

"I haven't yet, have I?" The arm supporting the kid's weight was starting to burn but there was no way she was going to let him down. "I promise I'm not going to let you fall. Just let go, little by little."

Robert looked at her and she met his eye with a reassuring smile, refusing to look away. One by one Robert peeled his fingers off the bar until an entire hand was hovering an inch away from it.

"I'm gonna move a little so you can grab onto my shoulder, alright?" Kat warned. The last thing she wanted was to scare the kid into never letting go of the bar. "Ready?" she asked and Robert nodded, his bottom lip trembling.

As gently as she could, Kat lifted Robert's body up, inserting herself between him and the bar. The arm of the hand that still held onto the bar rested on her shoulder and the other instantly clamped around her neck, his legs wrapping around her waist. "I wan' ma Mommy," he whispered, fearfully, his face so close to hers she could feel his breath on her cheek.

"I know you do Robbie- just let go of the other bar and I'll take you inside, alright?" she asked and he shook his head,

"I wan' ma Mommy…"

A foreboding thought entered Kat's mind; what if Robert's mother had died? She couldn't promise to take him to her if she wasn't alive…

"Robert, sweetheart, you're not going to fall if you let go of the bar. Trust me."

"Trus' ya?" Robert asked, cocking his head, eyes searching her face.

"Have I let you down yet?" Kat asked and his bottom lip disappeared under his teeth. Reluctantly he pulled his other hand away from the bar and wrapped it tightly around Kat's shoulders. "There you go, that wasn't so bad, was it?" she asked and Robert shook his head.

Kat made to put him down but he suddenly started screaming and she stopped what she was doing. "I wan' ma Mommy!" he screeched, pulling himself into her, a death grip on her neck. "Dun le'me go," he whispered.

"Hey, it's alright Robbie, it's alright…" her hand was already rubbing his back, up and down the spine, small comforting circles, just like she always had. "I'm not letting you go just yet buddy…" Once the sniffing had lightened up she began walking towards the school. "I'm gonna take you inside, alright Robbie?" she asked.

The two boys and girl, as well as Brian created a sort of entourage as Kat trekked her way into the school. It didn't take long to get to the office.

The secretary took one look at the group of them and sighed. "What happened this time?"

"Robbie was on the monkey bar-"

"-he really hates being up high-"

"-the girl came and picked him up-"

"-sitting there and heard the kid screaming and took off across the playground-"

"Everyone, shush," Kat ordered and the kids instantly stopped talking. Brian laughed and disappeared down the hallway. "Robbie here isn't really feeling well- I was wondering if I could sit with him for a minute or two, and if he doesn't start feel better, maybe we could call his parents?"

"Who'er all these?" the secretary asked, gesturing to the three kids at Kat's side.

Kat looked at them blankly and they stared up at her. "Uh, I… don't know?"

"Carry,"

"Mickey,"

"Vinnie," the kids each said in turn and Kat nodded, feeling bad for blowing them off initially,

"I'm pretty sure they're Robbie's friends…"

"Okay, you three," the secretary indicated the kids, "Go back outside." She stared at them until they scattered and only then she invited Kat into the office. "You can sit over there- let me know if you need anything."

"Yeah, okay," Kat nodded, "Thanks."

Kat sat down on the chair, settling Robbie down on her lap. It took a second to organize his legs so that he was sitting comfortably, but he stubbornly refused to remove his head from her shoulder. "I wan' ma Mommy," he repeated.

"Where'd your Mommy go?" Kat asked softly and he started to shake. Her hand returned to his back, rubbing it and humming the tune Collins had lulled her to sleep with.

It'd been a long time since she'd held a kid like this. The last one had been… well; it'd been a long time ago, in another lifetime. There'd been Mimi, too, but Mimi wasn't like this- Mimi didn't feel like a kid.

"Ma Mommy's here," Robert whispered, rubbing his face against Kat's shirt before pulling away.

Kat searched his face, trying to figure out what he meant by it. "Here?" she questioned, thrown for a loop. What exactly did that mean? "Does she work at the school?" she ventured.

"Mrs. Harriet will be down in a moment to collect Robert," the secretary called and Kat snapped her head to the lady- Mrs. Harriet? Mrs. Harriet as in Mrs. Harriet the teacher of the class she always skipped?

Mrs. Harriet was Robert's Mom??

Not good.

"Dun go!" Robert whined when Kat tried to lift him off her and she found she couldn't just ignore his pleas. "You promised," he reminded with an adorable pout and Kat nodded, slumping into the chair resigned.

This was going to be interesting to say the least.

"What grade you in Robbie?" she asked, hoping to make conversation and maybe somehow distract him, pawn him off on the secretary before his mother got there. The last thing she needed was to be forced into a conversation with Mrs. Harriet.

Robert glanced around the office, still holding onto her neck like a metal bear trap. "One, but Carry's in second. Mickey's in ma class and Vinnie's in the other first grade class. We're best friends," he stated proudly and Kat couldn't help but smile- she remembered that feeling too.

"And what's your favorite subject?" she asked and Robert gave her a look.

"Recess! And lunch time- ya getta eat!"

Kat laughed, "Yeah, I like lunchtime a lot."

"What grade are ya in?" the boy asked, taking a hand away from her shoulder and pulling off a couple buttons on his jacket.

"Do you know what a Junior is?" she asked and Robert nodded,

"Ma Mommy teaches them!" he said excitedly, giggling. Kat saw Harriet come into the office and she tried to smile as she lifted Robert up. "No!" he protested instantly, clamping back down around her neck and she looked to Harriet apologetically- he hadn't seen her yet.

"Robbie, buddy, your Mom's here," she said gently and he turned his head without letting go of her body.

"Mommy!" he shrieked and after a second he let go of Kat. It was all she could do to keep him from falling on his head. "Mommy!" he repeated, continuing to repeat until Kat managed to get both his feet safely on the ground.

"Robert," Mrs. Harriet said, worried, confused and a little curious. She lifted him up as he came running at her, settling him on her hip. His face instantly buried into her hair, hands groping blindly for her shoulders. Harriet made sure that he was fine and uninjured before looking to address Kat- but the girl was already gone.

Katharine Clarkson… Harriet petted her sons hair, trying to figure out exactly what kind of person she was.

- - - - -

"How'd you learn how to do that?" Brian asked, appearing from thin air next to Kat.

The sudden appearance startled Kat and she repressed the jump it had given her. "Do what?" she asked only a little irritated.

"The thing with the kid," Brian elaborated, the master of words.

Kat shrugged, continuing to pack her bag with all the stuff she'd need for that night. Hopefully Brian would get that 'the thing with the kid' wasn't something she wanted to talk about at the moment- something she would probably resist talking about with Mark or Collins. It wasn't really the sort of thing you told a friend… if Brian was even her friend.

"Used to taking care of kids?" Brian guessed, ignoring any signal that he may have gotten.

Sighing, hoping to convey that this was a topic she didn't want to dig into, Kat muttered, "You could say that," before closing her locker with a slam. She picked up her bag and turned to head out the door- Brian hot on her heels.

"Wait up," he called, jogging up to her. Together they danced around a massive body of people before Brian could ask her another question; "Where do you live?"

"Alphabet City," Kat answered without even thinking. It hit her after the fact that she had told an almost stranger where she lived, and that that place was her home with Mark. They got out the front doors and there was a hand on her arm- "What?" she asked, not used to the contact.

Brian looked uncertain, "Alphabet City, right?" he asked and Kat nodded. "I… never mind," he muttered, ducking his head. The sudden bashfulness was uncharacteristic and Kat was intrigued,

"No, what is it?" she asked, ignoring the fact she'd probably now miss her normal train.

"I…" Brian trailed off. He looked around and took a step forward, lowering his voice, "You wannna make some extra money?"

_A/N: Thank you to everyone that reviewed!!!_

_Also, if the reviewer called Nicole reads this, I would love to get an email address from you so I could respond to some of your amazing feedback. It's okay if you don't want to though. All your words are much appreciated and helpful in any case._


	31. theearthturnsthesunburns

_Summary: Kat's family died a month Wednesday; Mimi's going through withdrawal with Roger's help and Mark's trying to keep the family together._

"**the earth turns, the sun burns"**

- - - - -

**Tuesday, January 29****th**

- - - - -

"I'm hungry," Kat announced obnoxiously, sprawled out across the couch. The loft was otherwise quiet save for the strumming of Roger's guitar, his fingers splayed halfway down the fret board. There was a lull in the notes as his pinky finger slipped off of the smallest steel string.

Replacing it, he tried the chord out again and suggested, "Then eat some cake," dryly.

Kitty rolled over on the couch so she could face Roger and pouted; "It's gone."

"Why's it gone?" he asked, moving to the next chord and strumming it out. Mark had been left with a monstrous cake from the wrap-party of the show he was working on the other day- there was no way it could've all disappeared.

"I ate it." Kitty sighed, looking up at the loft ceiling, "An hour ago."

"Why did you eat it an hour ago?" Roger asked. It was a game he could play for hours and the part of him that wasn't focused on his fingers bending just _that_ way was wondering how creative Kitty would get before giving up.

"I was hungry an hour ago," was her slow answer and Mimi giggled from the armchair.

"Why were you hungry an hour ago?" Roger pressed and Kat didn't immediately reply.

After a moment she said, "My body had finished metabolizing the previous group of nutrients I'd ingested and was sending messages to my central nervous system through a negative feedback loop informing my conscious that my body was in need of more base sugars to continue the functioning of major organs and to replenish and repair somatic cells."

The last chord rung out through the air and Roger finally muttered, "But how do you know that?"

Instead of answering 'biology class' Kat murmured, "Magic," back.

Roger rolled his eyes. "Kitty, that can't be your fall back for everything," he pointed out and Kat grinned. It was the reaction she was looking for.

"Why can't it be my fall back?" she asked, attempting to turn the tables on Roger.

He refused to take the bait. "You're still the one that set the kitchen on fire."

"Collins said it would be okay!" Kat protested instantly and Roger laughed,

"Collins' also almost burnt down the loft more than once!"

"It was a Chemistry experiment!" she explained, and Roger laughed again,

"See, I think your teacher wouldn't want you to be doing it dangerously. I went to school too- there were symbols and shit."

"Why were there symbols and shit?" Kitty asked and Roger refused to answer her. Grinning, Kat picked up her notebook and the textbook on history she was supposed to work from. "Roger," she asked after writing a sentence, "How do you spell 'antidisestablishmentarianism'?"

Roger stopped playing in surprise, "Why the hell would I know that?"

Kat shrugged and said, "Cause they're bastards to the cause of art?" after thinking for a moment.

Roger raised his eyebrow, "And how would you know that?"

"I'm…" There was an odd hesitance in Kat's voice as she responded and Roger was curious where it came from and why it was there, "Cultured in the ways of fine art, I guess."

Before Roger could ask Kat to elaborate Mimi stood up. "Where're you going?" Roger asked, momentarily thrown. He'd almost forgotten she was there.

Catching the hint of suspicion, Mimi rolled her eyes, "The bathroom honey. Can I do that?"

Roger felt himself blush, "Right, sorry…"

"So why can't you spell it?" Kat asked, either oblivious to the tension or purposefully trying to relieve it.

"Can you?"

"That's why I'm asking…"

"Uh… a-n-t-i-d-e-s-e-s-t-a-b-i-s-h-m-e-n-t-y-s-m."

Kat kept track of the letters and checked her notebook when he was finished. She couldn't help but giggle, "Roger, you just spelt antidesestabishmentysm."

"Well, you try it then," Roger challenged and Kat rolled her eyes at his competitiveness.

"Okay… uh, a-n-t-i-e-s-t-a-b-l-i-s-h-m-e-n-t-a-r-y-i-s-m," she sounded out, writing the letters down.

"That's wrong- you can't have a y and an i together…"

"Yeah, I don't think that's why it's wrong…" Kat muttered, realizing she'd completely missed part of the word. "_You_ can't have a y and i together," she added as an afterthought, flashing Roger a quick grin.

Roger didn't catch it, deep in thought; "No, there was a song. I think. Uh, Y and I went to the market, the day after Vowel took Adverb to the deli… uh, Y dumped I by the fish stand while-"

"Roger, that isn't anything," Kat interrupted, giggling.

"Why can't it be anything?" he demanded.

"Because- hey!" Kat shouted disapprovingly and Roger grinned. They both started laughing.

Which was why when Mark opened the door to the loft, he opened the door to laughter. It was odd, considering Kat's sudden aversion towards normal, non-moody behavior and Mimi's current whining binge.

"Mark?" Roger called out hesitantly and Mark stuck out his hand, obligingly stepping through the doorway careful to remain cautiously optimistic.

Kat was still sprawled out across the couch, the thick textbook now abandoned on the table beside her with the tattered notebook in her hands. "Hey Uncle Mark," she smiled. Mark nodded back, staying quiet. There was a pencil twirling in her fingers and Mark wondered where she'd learnt how to do that.

"You gonna stay by the door the whole day Markie?" Roger asked and Mark snapped his eyes away from the movement of the pencil, entering the room and putting his bag down beside the vacant armchair.

"Where's Mimi?" he asked and Roger nodded to the bathroom. There was a flush and Mark 'ahh-ed'. "What were you guys up to?" he asked, trying to subtly inquire about the laughter.

Kitty grinned and threw a pencil at Roger, who caught it easily. "We're trying to make learning fun!" he exclaimed in mock cheerfulness and Kat rolled her eyes,

"Roger's being an idiot," she translated dryly.

Roger threw the pencil back at her, "I'm not the one who was trying to spell 'antidisestablishmentarianism'."

"'Antidisestablishmentarianism' is a hard word to spell!" Kitty complained and Roger laughed.

"Why do you need to know how to spell antidisestablishmentarianism?"

Glaring at the textbook on the table she explained, "Teachers are easily impressed with big words like antidisestablishmentarianism."

Roger cocked an eyebrow. "Not if they can't read them they aren't," he pointed out smugly and Kat threw the pencil back across the room. "Antidisestablishmentarianism," he grinned.

Mark shook his head and went into the kitchen; there was a gnawing in his stomach that he knew could only be fixed with some substantial food. "Guys," he called after a moment. There were a couple very noticeable singe marks on the counter top. "Did something happen in here?" Neither of them answered him as 'antidisestablishmentarianism' was thrown around a couple more times and just as he was about to open the fridge he heard a thump in the bathroom. Remembering that Mimi was in there he yelled out, "Mimi?"

Roger shot up like a bullet, the pencil clattering to the floor. Four long strides took him across the room and he was knocking urgently on the door within seconds. "Meems?" he called through it. When he didn't hear an answer he turned the knob in his hand. It clicked open and he warned, "I'm coming in baby."

After a moment of silence he pushed the door open. Mimi was sitting on the edge of the tub, her head snapping up in genuine surprise. "Roger?" she asked, her voice distant. Her fingers clutched the rim of the porcelain and Roger went to her.

"Yeah, it's me," he smiled softly, perching on the edge of the toilet. "You okay?"

Mimi nodded, leaning forward and Roger put a hand on her arm. "I'm cold," she muttered, a shiver succeeding her words. Roger nodded and took hold of her arm, pulling her onto his lap.

"If you come to the couch I can get you warmed up," he promised, wrapping his arms around her.

"Do I have to?" Mimi whined, huddling into Roger's shoulder.

Roger shook his head, "Not if you don't want to, but it'll be better there."

Mimi contemplated it for a second and nodded minutely. "Okay," she whispered.

- - - - -

**Wednesday, January 30****th**

- - - - -

Kat slipped through the door and for once she was grateful for the distraction that Mimi granted. Not that she was glad about Mimi's condition, but it was hard to be resentful towards something that helped her get away with things like skipping out on school.

Roger looked up at her from the couch with groggy eyes and half-heartedly lifted a hand in greeting. Mimi was sleeping on the armchair across from him and Kat tip-toed across the loft and into her room, shutting the door as quietly as she could behind her.

It wasn't exactly clear to her how Mark would react when he inevitably figured out what she was doing every Wednesday, but she was almost certain that it wouldn't be received with smiles and good cheer. So, like the procrastinating teenager she was, she'd prefer to prolong it for as long as possible.

Shutting the door to her room as quietly as possible, she looked around, knowing the place she wanted to go to but not wanting to go there. It'd been burning in the back of her mind ever since she'd gotten on the train that morning, burning in the back of her mind as she road it all the way to one end of the city and back to the stop she'd boarded at.

The fact that it'd been a month since her family died- the fact that she still wasn't over it, that if she went to school today she'd have to confront that pain… it wasn't something she wanted to go through right then.

But then again, she never really would, would she?

She walked over to her bed and touched the comforter thoughtfully. No, she wasn't dealing with it well. In all honesty, she wasn't dealing with it at all. And when she tried to deal, the things that happened caused her to wonder what kind of person she really was. What kind of person she had the capability of becoming…

Whether it was voluntary or involuntary she didn't know, but Kat found herself on her knees, by her bed, a spot where she'd previously been standing. The book that had burned itself into her mind was under the bed, so close it would take almost no effort to reach out and grab. Not that she would- taking it out and looking at it would mean dealing with stuff.

Stuff that was made up of something that wasn't there any more, stuff that she wouldn't be able to experience any more, stuff that seemed to hurt less if it was just ignored…

Her hand withdrew from underneath the bed where it'd been inching towards the book and she promised herself that tomorrow- tomorrow she would look at it.

There was a knock on the door and her legs were numb and she realized that it wasn't noon anymore. Another knock and she fell onto her hip, leaning against the bed and the door opened. Roger's face came out from the crack and he looked surprised to see her there. "Hey Kitty," he muttered, glancing at the clock on her bedside table. It seemed like it was too early for her to be home, but it wasn't unrealistic… "When did you get back from school?" he asked still trying to get the sleep out of his system, "I think I remember seeing you but…"

"Just now," Kitty said quickly, "You must've been dreaming before."

Roger watched her, noticing the odd angles of her legs. There was something there that was off, but… "You okay?" he asked seriously and Kat nodded, pressing her lips together. "Just get me if you need anything, okay?" he requested softly, honestly, and the girl seemed to understand he didn't want anything from her- he was just letting her know that he would be there if she needed it.

"Of course Roger," she whispered and Roger nodded once before he slipped back out the door.

- - - - -

**Thursday, January 31****st**

- - - - -

Kat jerked her shoes on and was out the door yelling "Bye Uncle Mark!" before the aforementioned even realized that something significant was happening.

"Wait a second!" he shouted from the kitchen and his niece stopped guilty in the middle of the door, unwillingly turning around. "Kitty, where are you going?" he asked, stepping out so he could see her.

There was a look that strongly suggested she'd been trying to avoid this confrontation and she muttered, "To the park."

That was unusual. "Really?" Mark asked, raising an eyebrow.

Kat nodded and attempted a confident 'yes' that turned out more like, "Y-Yeah…" They both knew why her voice was stuttering but Kat was determined to get away from the people she liked before she did something she'd regret.

"It's getting dark out there," he pointed out.

Kat waited a beat for something more before asking, "Aaand…?"

Mark sighed, "And, why can't you just wait until tomorrow?"

"Uncle Mark," Kat said slowly, "I want to go right now."

"What's wrong with tomorrow?"

There was a flicker of aggravation across Kat's face. "Tomorrow's not the same," she said shortly.

"Kat, it's getting dark-" Mark explained.

She shrugged, "So what? The park's not too far away."

It was relatively close, but it was still too far away for Mark liking. "Can't you just wait until tomorrow?"

"Why? I'll be back before dark," she promised.

"It already is dark," he pointed out again starting to get impatient.

"Not really," Kat protested, "You can still see a couple-"

"Kat, there's one rule here, and it's that you're in the loft while it's dark outside. It's too dangerous out there to-"

Kat cut him off, exasperated, "I'm just going to the park Uncle Mark! I'm not going to prostitute myself on the street."

"Kat," Mark warned and she balked.

"Sorry," she muttered grudgingly. "But seriously, I'll be fine."

Maybe it was time for a new tactic. He tried to lay it out for her, "Do you realize how dangerous it is out there for a teenage girl, much less for one that's all alone?"

"Mimi was my age when she-"

"That's not the same and you know it Kat," Mark said, cutting that line of reasoning off before it could go anywhere.

Kat sighed. Mimi probably wasn't the best example in any case. She tried to explain it rationally; "Uncle Mark, I just want to go to the park. I don't see what the big deal is."

"I'm not letting you out there alone Kat," Mark explained for what seemed like the fourth time. "I'm sorry, but this is the one thing I feel strongly about."

Roger, who'd been watching the conversation silently from the sidelines jumped in with, "Wait, the problem is her going alone?"

Mark gritted his teeth, hoping Roger wasn't going to jump to Kat's rescue. "Yes Roger, that's the problem."

"I'll go with her then."

"What?" Mark and Kat asked simultaneously.

"I'll go with you," Roger repeated. "To the park," he clarified. And then he asked, "What?" because they were still staring at him.

"I don't need a chaperone," Kat muttered and Mark scoffed,

"A, yes you do, and B, are you sure Roger?"

"Yeah," Roger nodded as he stood up. "You'll be fine with Mark, right baby?" he asked and Mimi nodded with a weary smile. "Then just let me put on my shoes and we can go!" He gave Mimi a kiss on the cheek and pulled on his jacket.

Mark looked like he was going to pee himself and Kat looked like she wanted to knife him straight in the back with a red-hot dagger.

"This, is so, stupid," Kat muttered under her breath while Roger pulled on his shoes.

"You know I heard that, right?" he asked and she glared at him, fidgeting restlessly.

Mark hovered over them like a mother hen, going as far as to escort them into the hallway and yelling, "Be back before 10, please," just as they reached the first floor.

Kat bristled at the request and Roger sympathized with her. He yelled back, "I'll take care of her Markie, don't worry!" making sure there was enough annoyance in his voice to make Mark roll his eyes.

Roger could hear a faint, oddly threatening, "I trust you!" Kat stopped and looked like she was going to say something but he took her by the shoulders and propelled her forwards and out the door.

"Just let him be," he whispered, giving her shoulders a reassuring squeeze, but Kat shook him off the moment they left the building. They started walking down the street and Kat's entire demeanor seemed to relax with every step, like a coil being decompressed. "Why were you so bent on getting out of there anyway? Something happen at the therapists?" Roger asked but Kat gave him a glare in response so he figured this was going to be a silent walk.

The metal structure of the jungle gym appeared after a couple minutes into their outing and Roger indicated it with his head. "This one?" he asked.

Kat grinned and nodded. "I call the swings!" she shouted, taking off at a run and leaving a thoroughly surprised Roger in her wake. Roger watched as she rounded the swinging frame and jumped onto one of the seats. By the time he got there he had to make sure to carefully avoid her pumping legs.

"Come'on Roger, swing with me?!" she pleaded and Roger shook his head apathetically, standing beside her with his arms wrapped solidly around his body. "Come'on!" she urged and Roger laughed,

"Uh, that's really okay."

Kat stopped her enthusiastic drive, letting her feet drag in the gravel, slowing her momentum down considerably. "Party-pooper," she muttered in mock sadness, sighing heavily. Once she'd stopped completely she looked up at Roger with a pouting face. "Push me?" she suggested with a sweet smile.

Roger stared at her for a second and couldn't help but let out a snicker. "What are you, five?"

"Oh, shut up," Kat sneered. But instantly she resumed her pouting and puppy dog eyes. It took about five seconds to sway Roger and after a big show of huffy-puffy reluctance he was behind her, pushing her on the swing gently.

"If you tell anyone I did this…" Roger warned after a moment.

He couldn't see her smile but he heard her say, "Yeah, yeah, macho pride, whatever."

"Macho pride?" he asked, so confused he dropped his arms for a moment. When did he ever give off that impression?

"Tough guy?" Kat tried, looking over her shoulder before colliding backwards into Roger's body and jerking forwards. Roger took hold of the chain that the seat of the swing hung from to keep his balance, stopping all their movement.

"That's a big no," he said, looking down at Kat curiously. She looked up at him and smiled once she realized he wasn't actually mad or upset. Then he released the chains and gave her a push to get her going again. "Seriously though, why'd you wanna get out of the loft so bad? Mark really driving you that crazy?"

"It's not Uncle Mark's fault…" Kat muttered without turning back to him. Roger barely just heard her.

He knew he wasn't that great at this kind of stuff and he didn't want to be the reason Kat was upset or angry for the next couple days… but he also didn't want to leave things hanging the way they were right now. "This helps?" he asked quietly as he prepared to push her off once more.

After a moment she muttered, "More than you know."

And then she fell back to Roger's waiting arms.

**A/N: Honest apologizes. Had to take a little while to regroup, figure out what the hell I was doing, why I was doing it. Should be on a more regular updating schedule from here on out. Hope too many of y'all aren't peeved.**


	32. ifyou'recoldandyou'relonleyi'llcoveryou

"**if you're cold and you're lonely… i'll cover you"**

**- - - - -**

**Friday, February 1****st**

**- - - - -**

She tried to convince herself that was she was doing was the result of the overwhelming need for an out. It wasn't the smartest thing to do, but the questions swirled around her head, attacked her, and threatened to pull her under constantly. They suffocated her with their constant and unrelenting presence, like she was underwater.

"_Who's this Larson kid?" _

They were things she didn't want to answer, things she didn't want to face, didn't want to remember or even acknowledge the existence of. Not yet, not now, it was too soon. Way too soon- it had barely been a month.

"_Did you take care of your brother a lot?"_

The irony of it itched her, irked her, convinced her that there was no real justice in the world- the irony of fighting valiantly for your life only to lose it in the most mundane way… it was too much to take so that was her excuse. That was her excuse for everything…

"_Used to taking care of kids?"_

Like lightening flashes, attacking her eyesight, penetrating the darkness even through closed eyes. There was no way she could get away from them, from the fact that they would always be there and yet… others didn't seem so affected. She'd never imagined anything so difficult, so toiling.

Was she just weak, or did she just seem so weak because she could bear witness to herself falling apart?

No one understood. No one. No one knew what she'd gone through, what her family had gone through.

But when Collins pulled her into a graveyard after school, holding her hand firmly up as he pulled her up a small hill before stopping midway in front of a gravestone- she thought that maybe someone out there had the capacity to understand.

"You need closure," Collins said, strong and confident and Kat nodded because the way he said it made it sound like it was the only option available. "You've been miserable and it's not only you you're destroying. It's affecting everyone around you and not in the warm and fuzzy way."

It was the longing way he was staring at the stone and the inscription that read _Angel Dumount Schunard / A Thousand Sweet Kisses. _

"You need to talk to someone Kitty. Angel's… decent. If you ever want to, you know… I know Angel would be more than willing to deliver a message."

And then he left and Kat was standing in front of a gray slab of stone, trying to figure out why she didn't feel the way she did the last time she was looking at one of these. There was only a sense of strange intimacy, a feeling not of something paranormal, just… personal. Quiet and calming.

"Hey…" she said and her voice fell flat in the starkness of winter. Feeling silly she cleared her throat and tried to start again. "I know this is kind of… well, stupid. But Collins said that…" Her voice faltered again and Kat swallowed.

Why was this so hard?

"My name's Kat by the way," she said, shifting so she could see if Collins was staring at her. He was smoking contently down the street some and she lowered her voice so he wouldn't overhear. "I know you're Angel. Mimi talks about you sometimes, but Collins doesn't…. not because he doesn't love you," she quickly reconciled, cursing the words for not coming out right,

"Maybe because you two had a connection or something that was just… Like when my family…" She realized that she was getting a lot of half-sentences out. "I still can't," she said by way of explanation, "Not to anyone else at least. I've tried before but- that's just not me any more, you know?

"Like, how the hell can I still be here without them? I'm… not really alive without them… everything keeps going on and on but when I think about it, when I… think of myself as Katharine, that's all I can think about. How they're gone and I'm still here by some cruel twist of fate. I can't be Katharine without the people who made me that person, you know?

"It wasn't supposed to be like this… God, it _wasn't_ supposed to be like this. After everything we went through, with Ryan, you'd think that… It's funny; I thought I knew pain back then. Back when we were going through all that stuff I thought I felt like that was the most helpless I'd ever feel. I thought that I'd experienced… loss, back then.

"I thought I went to a bad place back then but now… now I realize that was nothing. That wasn't a bad place. And the only reason I don't want to… deal is because I know that the place I'll go to now won't be half as nice as where I was back then. And back then I had… I still had them, I still had him, you know? Or I guess maybe you don't," Kat muttered, wondering when she'd forgotten she was talking to a tombstone.

Maybe she wasn't, but believing that it was more than what she saw would make everything too real. Collins had wandered off and sat himself down on the curb at some point. He was currently playing with a twig, turning it back and forth in his hands.

She was still safe.

And she couldn't deny the fact that it felt nice to have some… thing, to talk to that wouldn't talk back or judge. That she didn't have to watch her words around. Maybe Collins was smarter than she thought he'd be, maybe he had figured it out.

"Mimi said that you went out and made money playing on the street," she said, the timbit of information coming from nowhere. "I do the same thing… sort of…" She thought about it for a second and sighed miserably, "Or, you know, not really. But I don't think they know. I don't think anyone in my family ever told Uncle Mark. I think that maybe he would think…" Kat lowered her voice, "Maybe he would think I was a sell out. Or something. I really don't want to tell him," she admitted.

"But I'm so scared he's going to find out," she whispered, kneeling down beside the stone, too tired to stand. "I'm scared that… that Mrs. Harriet's going to tell him, that he'll find my book, that he'll find… something out and he'll think I'm a sell out and he... I don't know if I am, but you played for money on the street and every still loved you… so maybe it'll work out like that for me too."

Kat put out her hand and forced herself to touch the stone before she lost her nerve. She let her fingers run along it, feeling the gritty stone beneath her fingers, trying to communicate her emotions through touch. "I know we don't really know each other, but Collins loves you and so does everyone else, so I guess that means you're pretty cool. And nothing's struck me down yet so I guess you're not annoyed with my rambling. And if you could just… tell them I miss them and I love them. That I wish I could be with them. That would be great."

The blood had gone from her legs and she propped her hands on the ground while the pins and needles wracked the lower half of her body. "I hope your limbs can't fall asleep up there cause they hurt like a bitch," she muttered once the circulation had returned.

Kat stared at the stone, and after a moment she allowed herself a small smile and whispered, "Thanks Angel."

- - - - -

When Kat and Collins got back to the loft, there was a message on the machine waiting for her. Roger was the closest so he pressed the play button. The message started and Kat froze, but as it continued all the inhabitants of the loft seemed to be slowly sucked towards the machine, as if it were their center of gravity.

"_Hey Kate… It's uh, Larson… I wanted to call earlier but I sort of lost the phone number and I don't even know if it's the right one but… So, I just wanted to um, look… I'm sorry about your family. I really am. I saw you at the funeral, but I'm pretty sure you don't remember. You were kinda not really… present, at all… look, I'm coming down to New York for a week with my brother. The dude you were with, uh, Mark, gave me this number, and said you'd be staying there? Maybe we could meet up somewhere? I really want to see you. So… you know my number. Call me? It's 620-2373. Now you can't not call… Please? Please, Kate, I really need to hear from you. You haven't spoken to anyone here since… it happened, and a lot of people are worried about you… I'm really worried about you… I love you Kate… Just, please call me? Please. Katie, I… please. Don't do this. Please not again. I guess… I love you Katie._"

After the message ended there was a full thirty seconds where only the sounds that could be heard were of the cars from the street, flooding into the loft from the open window. It was Roger who took the first step forward, putting a gentle hand on Kat's shoulder. "Kitty," he whispered; the rasp filled the room, overwhelming even the sounds from the street. The name hung in the air for a moment, the calm before the storm, until they were suddenly tipped over the cliff and catapulted straight at the jagged rocks waiting at the bottom.

"How'd he get this number?" Kat demanded without turning around. Mark winced at her tone. There was something scary in it that his father during report card day couldn't even compete with.

"Who was that?" Roger asked, his voice sounding heartbreakingly innocent in contrast to Kat's. When he didn't get a response he squeezed Kat's shoulder; whether it was the gesture or not that caused it, she turned around and the movement caused his hand to slip away from contact.

"Uncle Mark," Kat asked once again, her voice wavering into dangerously low territory, "How did he get this number?"

"I gave it to him," Mark answered not sure exactly what was happening. The answer itself wasn't that hard to admit but he did wonder why he was feeling so guilty. Everything in his gut when he first handed the slip of paper over up until now assured him that he'd done the right thing- and yet the guilt was working it's way into his chest, shifting the organs around his heart uncomfortably.

It didn't help that Kat looked absolutely livid with his response. "Why?!" she demanded, radiating so much fury that Roger took a cautionary step between the two of them. "You had no right-"

"He's your friend Kitty," Mark interrupted softly. From the sound of Larson's voice on the machine and the obvious love and care he had for Kitty, Mark knew that he would want the same to be done if he were in Larson's position. "He was worried about you; he asked for my number at the funeral so I gave it to him."

Kat opened her mouth to retort but Roger put a hand on her arm. "Hey," he muttered, reminding with one word not say anything she would come to later regret. The hand was shaken off angrily almost instantly but the gesture seemed to do what it was intended for.

After she took a second to collect herself she muttered, "I can't believe you did this," before pushing past Roger.

"Kitty, wait," Mark pleaded, desperate to make things better. If only she would talk to him, he thought he would be able to understand where she was coming from.

Already halfway to her door Kat stopped. "Uncle Mark, there's a reason I chose to come here," she said evenly, even as her hands balled into tight fists. "And that reason was to leave everything else behind. So that I wouldn't have to deal with that part of my life ever again."

Mark could tell that if she turned around her eyes would be brimming with tears but he didn't know how to make it better. He didn't know why he felt so guilty when he knew it was the right thing to do. "Ignoring it isn't the proper way to deal with it Kitty," he said finally.

Three heads turned to look at him but the only one he was interested in was Kat's, whom he could see was in fact on the verge of tears. "Gee Mark, I never knew the fish could be the first one to discover water."

The sarcasm bit into him and he was left feeling like someone had physically punched him. "What does that mean?" he asked quietly, feeling the insecurities that plagued him after Roger left for Santa Fe beginning to creep up on him again.

"Why don't you figure it out and then get back to me on it," Kat muttered before turning around to resume her storming out.

"Kitty-" but the door to her room had slammed and they heard her yell,

"Just leave me alone!"

Mark stared at the door for a few seconds and after a moment made up his mind.

"Whoa, Mark, what're you doing?" Collins asked as Mark picked up the phone. It was obvious that there was something really not okay with the situation.

Mark held the receiver, his hands poised over the numbers, "Calling him." Roger shook his head and retreated to Mimi's side on the couch and Collins gave him a dubious,

"Mark…"

Their eyes connected and Mark hoped that Collins would understand that he needed to do this, because if Collins said not to, Mark knew he wouldn't make the call. "I…" he looked at the phone and placed it gently back into it's nook, wishing that someone would call him and give him the answers to all his questions. "I don't know what to do," he admitted. "She's skipping school Collins- every Wednesday. She has to deal with this cause…" his finger slid down the spine of the phone and he imagined that he was comforting it, comforting the old piece of broken technology. He felt tears prickling his eyes and he blinked rapidly to quell them. "I can't lose her," he whispered softly, "I just can't."

"Then do it," Collins said after a moment, because Mark was right. Ignoring it wasn't the proper was to deal with it. And maybe this would help Mark realize it as well.

Mark looked up- that wasn't what he was expecting. "What?"

"Call the kid."


	33. notcutoutforrealestate

"**not cut out for real estate"**

**Saturday, February 2****nd**

A voice infiltrated Kitty's dreams and the moment she opened her eyes her memory of its contents disappeared like the smoke of an exhaled cigarette. All she was left with were the remnants of some emotion that had a faint trace of peacefulness.

"Kit-Kat kid," the voice said gently in a singsong voice, "You gotta wake up girl."

Mewing negative she tried to turn her body away from the voice but the covers were too tangled up and prevented her escape.

"Com'on Kitty," the voice encouraged and she dimly recognized it as Collins', "You gotta get up."

Kat shook her head and realized that Collins' hand was petting her hair. "Lair," she muttered, shying away from the hand and Collins chuckled,

"Sorry Kitty, but you're hangin' out with me today, remember? Not your pillow," he made a vain attempt at prying the pillow away from Kat's head but she was gripping it too tightly.

"Go away," she muttered angrily and Collins sighed. This was going to be a lot harder than he initially thought it would be. He smiled at the stubborn child and moved a couple strands of hair away from her face. But as adorable as she was, he knew they needed to get going- they had an appointment with Joanne to keep.

"Here's what I'm going to do," he started, hating to have to play bad cop. "You've got five minutes to get out of bed or I'm coming back in here with a glass of water and neither of us are going to be happy after that."

The mattress decompressed and Kat could hear Collins' steps stifle the further away he got. He was probably wearing socks. The door creaked open and then closed and she knew that he'd do well to carry through with his threat. It took her a second to realize that she was alone in the room- an irregularity that was no doubt caused by her blow up at Mark the other day.

With a sudden start it occurred to her that she must have passed out if she'd fallen asleep. Or maybe Mark had come in and stayed with her the night and she just didn't remember… or maybe she was just getting used to, well, everything.

Refusing to let that train of thought plague her for the rest of the day, she resolutely pushed back the covers and lifted herself out of the bed before letting herself relax. A glance over to the other side of the bed revealed that it remained untouched.

Was she justified in her anger towards Mark? The thought alone made her head too heavy so she pushed it out of her mind, pulling on her clothes in a detached daze.

Soon she was out the door to her room, presumably appropriately dressed for whatever fun Collins had planned because he smiled at her approvingly and said, "Go wash up and we'll get going."

Kat had all the intention in the world of going straight into the bathroom and washing her face, then of coming back out to get something to eat.

Somehow she ended up in Mimi and Roger's room.

When she hit the bed the mattress jarred and Mimi, who'd taken up residence in the middle of the bed, looked up at her with drowsy eyes. "Hiya honey," she murmured pleasantly.

"'S Rog up?" Kat asked dully and Mimi nodded, their faces perfect sleepy mirrors of each other,

"For a while now."

"Great," Kat whispered as she crawled up the bed on all fours, pushing Mimi to the side of it.

After some shifting and grumbling they were lying comfortably side by side, Kat's head tipped on the top of Mimi's shoulder, her body turned towards Mimi's flat one. "'S'matter?" Mimi mumbled, silently discouraging any kind of confession right at that moment. Her hand, which had somehow found a piece of Kat's hair, began to corkscrew the strand around her fingers.

Letting out a small content sigh, Kat snuggled closer to Mimi and answered, "Nothing. Hidin' from Collins' s'all."

"'kay," Mimi smiled, closing her eyes. Just as the energy from her hand faded and it fell to rest on Kat's folded ones, Collins bellowed,

"KAT COHEN, GET YOUR ASS OUT HERE!"

Both of the girls jolted violently the wrong way, Mimi's shoulder and arm colliding painfully with Kat's jaw. Mimi pulled herself up and yelled, "Shuddup Collins! You woke me up!" angrily, glaring as if her anger would penetrate the curtains. Kat hissed a melodramatic,

"Owww!" as she rubbed her jaw, now very much awake.

"Where is that girl?" they heard Collins grumble as he obviously checked Kat's room and found it empty. His next stop was the one other room in the loft and he rolled his eyes at the sight of the two girls. "Kitty, get out of bed," he ordered tiredly, "We've gotta go."

"Better get going honey," Mimi encouraged as Kat fell back into the bed, sighing heavily. "Sweet-heart," Mimi said, prodding Kat in the ribs and Kat growled at her, almost falling off the bed as she rolled away.

"I'm going, I'm going," she reassured, giving her head a good shake before getting up for the second time. The curtain rungs rattled in protest as she pushed past the fabric. She eyed the couch where Roger was lounging hungrily, trying her best to ignore Mark. As she started towards it the door knocked and Collins cleared his throat.

"Kitty, get the door," he said.

Roger couldn't help but laugh at the utterly dejected look she was sporting. "Why me?" she whined and Collins pointed a butter knife at the door,

"Because you're closest- stop giving me that look and get the door while I get you something to eat for the road."

Muttering a few curse words under her breath she practically stomped (but not really, she didn't want to wake the family living downstairs… which was Mimi's empty loft, so that didn't really make sense, but there could already be some other people inhabiting the space, so her consideration had better go to giving her some damn good karma) to the door. Prepared to hate whatever unfortunate soul was on the other side of the door with every fiber of her being, Kat opened it and demanded, "Who the hell are you?" at the unfamiliar bald black man standing in front of her.

"Hi," the man said pleasantly, giving her a large smile with dazzlingly white teeth.

Kat narrowed her eyes and repeated, "Who the hell are you?"

The greeting didn't go over too well with the nicely dressed man as he spluttered, his kind confidence wavering. "Wha- uh… Benny."

"What do you want?" Kat asked rudely, figuring this was the only outlet she would get for her aggression for the rest of the day. Damn'ed if she was going to snap at Collins' or Joanne.

Benny faltered, glancing behind her like maybe he wasn't sure if this was the right place. "I'm the landlord," he said uneasily, "Are Mark or Roger here?"

"What do you want?" she repeated more forcefully and Benny, who previously stood the chance of being a nice person, answered,

"The rent," shortly.

Mark called, "Kat, who's at the door?!" from the couch and Kat ignored his question. She was about to open her mouth to tell the man where he could shove it when they heard Roger growl,

"Dude, do you mind not sitting right beside me when you yell like that? I think I busted an eardrum!"

"Well if you got up off your ass once in a while," Mark rebutted smartly, "Maybe you would be the one I was yelling to, instead of sitting beside."

"Whatever," Roger muttered and Kat held the man's gaze. There was an audible _Thump_.

"Oh." It was Mark's voice and he didn't sound amused. "That was real mature Roger. Really, super. Damn-it, I think you broke my camera…"

"It's a piece of shit if that's all it takes for it to break," Roger scoffed and Mark snapped back,

"You're a piece of shit… Don't TOUCH it!"

"Boy's behave!" Collins yelled from the kitchen and Kat sighed, finally breaking the staring contest her and Benny had been having.

"I'm going to go make sure they don't hurt each other," she muttered, disappointed to find all her aggravation giving way to remote neutrality.

Mark was huddled over his camera as Roger clawed at it, almost completely on his back. "I'm trying to help!" Roger insisted and Mark slapped his hand away from the device,

"Well stop! You're only making things worse!"

"Who's at the door Kitty?" Collins asked, making her what looked like some kind of grilled cheese sandwich.

"Yeah Kat," Roger quipped, giving Mark a light smack in the head before backing off, "Who's at the door?"

"Some fancy-pantsy dude," she answered, trying hard to watch Mark as he poked and prodded his camera.

"Really," Roger asked darkly and Kat nodded, wondering what the hell his problem was.

Despite everything that told her she was still mad at Mark, the way he was obsessing over the camera was a little distressing. She couldn't help but ask, "You alright Uncle Mark?"

"No," he said, attempting to sound serious which made him sound like he was a child who didn't get to fly his kite on the one windy day of the week, "Roger's not allowed to touch my camera anymore."

"Has Roger ever been allowed to touch it?" Kat asked, not even sure where the thing had come from. She'd seen Collins' fool around with it once or twice, Maureen once, but that was really it.

"Well you're not allowed to touch my guitar," Roger replied, holding the instrument possessively in his hands.

Mark looked up from the floor to glare at him, "I never touch your guitar, and I certainly don't shove you onto it!"

"Mark, Roger, the door!" Collins reminded, banging a pan in the kitchen. "Kitty, food," he said, sliding the sandwich onto a plate and placing it on the table. Kat glared at it but didn't even bother trying the 'I'm not hungry' routine, knowing Collins was probably pissed off enough as it was.

Roger, meanwhile, was getting elbowed in the ribs as Mark tried to mediate the space between him and Benny. "Rent?" Mark guessed and Benny nodded. "Stop-it," Mark chastised, pushing Roger off him and giving him a look that confirmed _any_ kind of fighting was strictly _not allowed_.

Roger would have settled for glaring at Benny for the duration of time it took Mark to get the money but Benny opened his mouth and asked, "Who's the girl?"

"Mark's niece," Roger answered, looking behind him and standing directly in front of Kat's slouched figure so Benny wouldn't be able to see her.

Benny looked surprised, "Why is she here?"

"She lives here." There was something oddly protective in Roger's voice and Benny narrowed his eyes,

"You are aware that you're supposed to tell me when someone else moves in, aren't you?" he asked and Roger took a step forward,

"I am aware that I should shove a stick up your ass and-"

"I've got it!" Mark hastily interrupted, pushing Roger out of the way and giving him another look. "Here," he muttered, shoving the bills into Benny's hands.

"I can't believe we're actually paying when he told us we could stay here for free," Roger hissed and Mark rolled his eyes, knowing that Roger was looking to kick up anything, even that long, long past. And not technically true- they'd refused Benny's charity before, hadn't they?

"With Kat here I can't really risk being locked out again," Mark explained, glaring at Benny while he said it. They'd lost touch after the whole thing with Angel, and while he was sure Collins' still occasionally saw the once-bohemian, now wasn't the time to be picking 'sides'. "The whole irresponsible adult thing goes great as long as you have no responsibilities."

"I don't think that would faze her too much at this point," Roger muttered stepping in front of Mark and Mark looked around him to Benny, effectively ignoring him.

"What's the story with Kat?" Benny asked, seeing that he had Mark's attention but Roger turned around in a flash,

"I'll tell you right after you tell us the story of how you got the hell out of our building!"

"It's my building!" Benny protested but the door had already shut off any communication between the two parties and all Benny could hear was Mark yell,

"Roger!" Benny shook his head, somehow knowing that it was this was a fool's errand that wasn't worth the trouble and Collins' would tell him how Mimi was doing during their next lunch date.

"Roger!" Mark yelled, wondering what the hell it was about Benny that brought out the immature seven-year old, I-like-pulling-girls-hair-if-I-like-them, side of Roger. Or maybe that was just too simple an answer that it didn't really deserve to be a question.

At least Roger had the heart to look a little forlorn. "He was annoying me," he muttered, and Mark shook his head,

"If I slammed a door for every time you annoyed me-"

"You'd have slammed one door," Roger quipped. With a mischievous grin he asked, "Where'd you say your camera was?"

"ROGER! Don't you DARE!" Mark yelled after Roger and the Benny incident was temporarily forgotten.

At some point between yelling at Roger, not talking to Roger, glaring at Roger, ignoring Roger and giving Roger a good solid punch in the arm which Roger returned thrice, twice as hard, Kat and Collins had left the building.

"Why do you care so much about that thing anyways," Roger asked after they'd both calmed down some.

Mark was just happy Kat hadn't been there for the whole manly floor wrestling Roger had literally dragged him into, to which Mimi's only response was to simply turn around and return back to the curtained off room.

"Care so much about what?" Mark asked, still slightly cross about Roger's impromptu wrestling match, and, well, the entire morning.

"The camera," Roger specified, glancing at the old thing sitting on the coffee table.

Mark stepped in front of his view with a glare, "Don't even look at it," he warned and Roger couldn't help but grin.

"Seriously though," he asked after Mark had sat down, "What's up with that? You haven't been like that since…" Roger trailed off, silently putting two and two together. "Oh," he said softly.

Mark won't look at him and said, "I'm going to go convince Mimi we're not rabid," ending the conversation indefinitely.

Roger couldn't help but wonder, Why did a little bit of fun always have to end on such a depressing note?


End file.
